BY THE SAME AUTHOR, 



Croion 8vo. 9 price 6s. 6d. 

A REASO NABL E FAITH. 

Published by Longmans and Co., Paternoster Row. 

_ Tlie Standard. — Mr. Hopkins has clearly thought out the path of safety for 
himself; he "boldly tries to meet every difficulty with the weapon of fair logic and the 
armoury of the written Word, and has followed earnestly wherever the light 
pointed, whether according to his own inclinations or not, and thus reaped the 
sure reward of all such consistent endeavours for the truth, .... Thus, in 
brief outline, runs the argument of this earnest, well-meaning little book ; out of 
which all who are really in search of plain reasons for holding on to what they 
believe, or of light and guidance to extricate them from the meshes of doubt and 
unbelief, may gather help. 

The Morning Post.— Mr. Hopkins's book is a remarkable one, and merits 
strictest examination, as being characterised by profound thought and powerful 
reasoning on one of the most difficult subjects of ethical speculation. From its exten- 
sive comparisons between the two revelations, the moral and the physical, or the 
works of God as revealed in nature and in the Bible, it will be valued by the 
believer as no unworthy companion and sequel to Butler's great work on the 
Analogies of Religion. 

The Record.— In spite, however, of these things there is some good material in 
Mr. Hopkins's book, and many of his points will be studied with advantage by 
searchers in the boundless field of Christian evidence. 

The Literary Churchman.— We have here one more attempt (and a clever-one) 
to deal with the difficulties about faith and reason. 

The Weekly Dispatch.— This work contains evidence that the author is a man 
of much good sense, independent thought, and subtle observation. . . . "When- 
ever Mr. Hopkins is not bedevilled with orthodoxy, he is intelligent and liberal. 

The Westminster Review. — Mr. Hopkins's Christianity appears to consist in the 
reception of the mysteries, as of the Trinity and Incarnation, by Faith. 

\The Clerical Journal. — This book is full of thought exercised on the things of 
God, and while readers of different mental tendencies will demur here and there 
to the author's positions, they must,, if they are ingenuous and candid, derive 
pleasure and profit from his observations. 

Church and State Rcvieio.—Mr, Hopkins's book is, throughout, well worthy of 
perusal. It is really a remarkable book. 

John Bull. — The whole essay is clever and well written, and to certain minds 
possibly it may prove to be of use. 

The Patriot. — Without note or preface, Mr. Hopkins submits his book to his 
readers on its own merits ; and, on the whole, he need not fear the result. On the 
part of opponents of revealed religion it will be easier to cavil at it than to answer 
it. . . . As a whole, we may cordially commend this very able, very judicious, 
and very useful little volume. To those who have not access to larger works on 
Christian evidence it will be invaluable. . 

The British Standard.— The author of this work has not given to the public 
that which cost him little: He has very thoroughly digested his subject ; his own 
views are presented with a completeness, and luminousness which show him to be a 
hard student. 

The Christian World. — This is a pointed and vigorous little book. We are 
glad to see a man writing so liberally in a genial strain. There are not a few 
temptations to write caustic satires upon the weak and limping essays against the 
Bible. There is a beauty and ease in Mr. Hopkins's treatment of his subject 
which will undoubtedly assist his effort to show that reason and faith are bound 
together in indissoluble union. 

The Observer. — A reviewer who may differ on many points, will, at any rate, be 
impressed by a thoughtful perusal of such a work as this. 

The London Review. — Mr. Hopkins joins the ranks of Christianity versus 
Scepticism. In his work entitled " A Reasonable Faith," he shows triumphantly 
that the Christian is always ready and able to give a reason for the faith that is 
in him. Such books as these are especially calculated to be useful to the mass of 
general readers, who would disregard a bulky, argumentative volume on the 
subject, but who will peruse with pleasure a work in which the somewhat dry 
thread of logic is hidden beneath the flowers of an easy and pleasing style. 

Spectator.— Mr. Hopkins holds fully to the popular view of the Atonement, and 
we may be thankful for a protest in favour of religious liberty from such a quarter. 

Public Opinion.— Embodying much thought, clearly and beautifully expressed, 
on those subjects which are constantly occupying the minds of all earnest persons. 
Pre-eminently religious in its tone, it yet sustains the arguments against sceptics 
with what might be termed " secular power" holding fearlessly to the truth, while 
dealing gently but firmly with that which is opposed to it, 






COSMOPOLITAN 



SKETCHES. 



BY 



JOHN BAKER HOPKINS 




LpNDON:— H. HOLLO WAY," 291, STRAND. 
NEW YORK :—WILLMER & ROGERS. 

AND AT THE EAILWAY BOOK STALLS. 

18 6 7. 



CONTENTS. 






PAGE 

Saturday Night Marketing . . . . .1 

Bubble Blowing . * 12 

The Railway Station ...... 23 

A Christmas Vision . 1. .32 

A Breeding Establishment . . . . .42 

Two Midnight Meetings ..... 52 

In a London Police Court . . . . .62 

Life in Barracks ...... 68 

A Beggars' Supper and a Thieves' Hop . . . 75 

Found Dead . . . . . . 81- 

Constable's Hotel ...... 93 

"Mary Anne," A 1 for ever ..... 102 

Easter Monday . . . . . . .110 

Our Domestic Servants ..... 117 

Our Suburban Hotel . . . . . .127 



COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 



SATUKDAY SIGHT MAKEETING. 



Mr. and Mrs. Gubbins, with their olive branches, four in 
number and two of a sort — and " a duke cannot have more 
sorts of kids," as father says — reside on the first floor 
of No. I, Deal Court, Brick Lane, Spitalfields. Mr. Gubbins 
is a carpenter, and Mrs. Gubbins adds to the family revenue 
by a partnership in the ground-floor-back mangle. The 
Gubbinses are the great folks and envy of Deal Court, 
and are considered rather stuck-up people. Thanks to hard 
work and frugality they are pretty well to do. They have a 
banking account at the Post-office ; Grubbins belongs to a 
sick and burial society ; and his provident wife, about the 
middle of June, joins two Christmas clubs — one at the 
"public," from which she gets a fat goose and a bottle 
of gin; and the other at the grocer's, from which she derives 
a, new shilling, and plums and peel enough to compound a 
pudding which makes one dyspeptic to think upon. Mrs. 
Gubbins is brown, squabby, and on the eternity side of forty. 
Mr. Gubbins is about the same age, and looks as healthy as a 
man can do who works for ten hours a day, fares mode- 
rately, and sleeps in an atmosphere terribly overcharged 
with nitrogen. 



2 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

It is half-pas fc six on Saturday night. A tub of grimy 
suds is before the fire. The last Gubbins offshoot, cetat. five 
years, is on a truckle bedstead in a corner of the reception- 
room. Offshoot No. 2 is being rubbed down by the eldest 
daughter, the fair Jemima. The mother is engaged in the 
needful weekly performance of scouring the family heir. All 
the darling children (Jemima excepted) are undergoing their 
Saturday wash. Hence the tub of water and its griminess. 
The junior branches being in bed, Mr. Gubbins puts down 
his pipe, Mrs. Gubbins puts on her bonnet and shawl, and Miss 
Jemima arrays herself in a hat, from beneath which there 
hangs a net containing the young lady's hair, which by the 
tallowy light of the room looks like a collection of alarmed 
kittens' tails. Father pockets a half-pint medicine bottle, 
mother and daughter each take a large basket, and thus 
equipped they sally forth to market. Not, however, before 
Mrs. Gubbins with maternal solicitude has exhorted the 
ground-floor-back mangle to go to the children if they cry. 
The ground-floor-back mangle, who has a vision of some- 
thing short' and strong, in the form of speerits, about two 
hours later, readily promises to look after the brats. 

Through November mud and November darkness, the 
latter rendered uncomfortably visible by London gas, 
glimmering through dirty and unfrequent lamps, the Gub- 
binses, discussing to-morrow's dinner, en route, walk through 
sundry by-streets, until they emerge in Shoreditch, and 
behold a scene not easily described and never to be forgotten. 

No darkness now, but light— glaring light ! Tradesman 
vies with tradesman in consuming gas. The unprotected 
burners at the butchers, the greengrocers, the fishmon- 
gers, and the tripe shops, are flaring and flickering, and 
make a loud rumbling noise as they battle with the wind. 
On either side of the road there is an uninterrupted mile of 
stalls lighted with unrefined oils, which emit a smell as much 
unlike attar of roses as any smell can well be. At these 
stalls everything useful and decorative is to be bought, 
save coffins and anchors, and rouge for faded cheeks. 



SATTTBDAY NIGHT MABKETING. 3 

Fish that were alive a week ago, vegetables that have 
not been in London more than a fortnight, crockery- 
ware warranted to be China, children's toys cheap and frail 
— it is really very wicked that the children of the poor 
should be indulged in any such extravagancies as toys — 
benevolent eel-pies — that is, pies made with unskinned eels 
— oysters too large and tough to be swallowed without 
chewing, apples rather the worse for time at a penny a 
pound — cutlery that looks in the unrefined light as though 
it might possibly cut, and haberdashery dirt cheap, The 
male and female stall-keepers call out their wares without 
ceasing, and almost drown the voices of the butchers who 
are hoarsely persuading Her Majesty's subjects to " Buy, 
buy, buy !" To add to the confusion, there is the wonder- 
ful cheap Jack, with a miscellaneous collection in his cart, 
and who does not mind presenting every customer who will 
invest a sixpence with a gold ring — " None of your Brum- 
magem stuff, my dears, but 'all-marked." A little way off 
is the itinerant quack : " Is there anything the matter with 
you? Have you got the rheumatism, mum? Has your 
good man got the bile ? Ha^e your children got the 
worms ? This candy, at a penny a stick, will cure all com- 
plaints. It is made by the Indians, was always used by 
the Duke of "Wellington, and is eaten by the Queen every 
night before going to bed, by order of the Lord Mayor." 
At a corner of a street is a nigger band, singing and de- 
lighting the listeners. Execrable singing we admit, but, 
on the whole, not much worse than the drawing-room ballad 
singing one is sometimes obliged to hear ; and, alas ! to 
applaud. On the other side of the way is an opposition — to 
wit, two men selling flimsy sheets of songs, and shouting 
title and words as they sell them. They do a thriving 
trade, and a continuous stream of copper flows into their 
capacious pockets. 

The pavement is crowded. If anyone is in a hurry he 
must take to the road. Such a seething and incongruous 
mass of humanity ! Decently clad wives of City clerks 

b 2 



4 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

who have to keep up appearances upon £100 a-year, and 
who have come a long distance to buy the necessaries of 
life cheaply. Mechanics' wives comfortably clad, who 
evidently enjoy the marketing. Women in unwomanly 
rags. Girls with their sweethearts. Children who were 
better at home. Those who are homeless and who find 
that the poor are prone to take compassion on the wretched, 
frequent shoreditch on Saturday nights. Drunken men 
and drunken women. Take it altogether, a bewildering 
scene to the novice. 

But the Gubbins family are not in the least disconcerted 
by the noise and the bustling crowd. They stop before a 
vendor of whelks, and each has a little white saucer full of 
a small glutinous fish floating in a greenish oily -looking 
gravy. In addition to this, Miss Jemima, who is a growing 
girl of thirteen years, is treated to a hot potatoe, which, 
with a sprinkling of salt and a small pinch of what passes 
for butter, cost the modest sum of one halfpenny. Mr. 
Gubbins, who is a fond parent — you see the working classes 
have their weaknesses — invests threepence in toys for the 
bairns at Deal Court. These preliminaries over, the serious 
business of the evening commences. 

First to the butcher's. Such a show of meat, though ribs 
and sirloins of beef are conspicuous by their absence. 
When a family has to be kept upon rather less than 30s. a 
week, it will not do to pay lOd. per pound for bone, to be 
resold at Jd. per pound. So the best cuts go west- 
ward. Mrs. Gubbins is a meat critic. The butcher shows 
her a piece of beef. She plunges her fingers into it, and 
shakes her head. She does not like the feel of it, it is too 
flabby. Will she take the knuckle end of a leg of mutton ? 
No, it cuts to nothing. Her eye lights upon a piece of 
pork. She examines the skin. All right, there is no 
trace of the measles. She looks at the fat. It is hard as 
lard, and nearly as white. The pork is the thing. It is 
weighed, and she goes to a little glass box to pay the 
butcher's wife, whose red and juicy appearance is a 



:• 



SATURDAY NIGHT MARKETING. 

proof that the smell of meat is salubrious. At this 
point there is a slight row between Mrs. Gubbins and 
her husband. Mrs. Gubbins can tell you in the twinkling 
of an eye what three dozen and six of mangling come to at 
l^d. a dozen, but when the question is 51b. 2oz. of meat at 
8|d. per lb., she is at the mercy of the butcher's wife. She 
tries to reckon it with her fingers and signally fails. She 
appeals to Gubbins, but she might as well ask him to cal- 
culate the transit of the planet Venus. Gubbins says no 
doubt the young woman is correct. Mrs. Gubbins says he does 
not care how she's put upon, thrusts the pork into Jemima's 
basket, counts her change, and leaves the shop, firmly per- 
suaded that she has been cheated by the butcher, neglected 
by her husband, and is a very badly-used woman. Yet, Mrs. 
Gubbins, you excited the envy of the woman who was buy- 
ing bullock's liver — bullock's liver pudding is cheap and 
satisfying food — and who wished she could afford to buy pork. 

Next door, to the greengrocer's. After trying several 
cabbages, Mrs. Gubbins selects a big-hearted one ; then 
buys some potatoes — not kidneys, but Yorkshire reds. 
Gubbins is cheerful, and Jemima's mouth waters. Won't 
it be jolly to-morrow? The earthenware baking dish, 
which is divided into two compartments, will be brought 
into requisition. Into one compartment the potatoes will 
be sliced and sprinkled over with salt. In the other com- 
partment there will be batter pudding. Over both, on an 
iron stand, will be the pork. It will go to the baker's just 
as the genteel world is going to church. As the meat gets 
warm, fat will rain down upon the pudding and upon the 
potatoes, and won't they be rich ? Mrs. Gubbins, careful 
wife, has a very deep baking-dish. She will not let the 
baker have her fat. Not she, indeed. Oh, that pudding, 
Jemima ! Oh, those potatoes, rather pale-looking and sod- 
dened, but so uncommonly greasy ! 

Now for a surprise ! Does not Gubbins recollect what 
to-morrow is ? " Lor, I never see such a man as Gubbins. 
Why, wasn't to-morrow their wedding-day ?" Therefore, 



t) COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

Mrs. Gubbins bought some apples, so that, in addition to 
the rich batter, there would be apple pudding. Jemima 
was in ecstacies. Gubbins was obliged to calm his feelings 
by chewing a quid of tobacco. "Won't there be a scene to- 
morrow when mother peels the apples? "Won't the 
children snatch at the peel and devour it with inordinate 
relish? Won't mother cut out big cores to please her 
little flock ? Fat pork, fat potatoes, fat batter, apple pud- 
ding with suet crust. Oh, how supremely vulgar and 
coarse ! Strasbourg pie. The diseased livers of geese. Oh, 
how supremely genteel ! Gubbins, why don't you mend 
your manners, eschew fat pork, and eat pate fois de gras ? 

Jemima is sent home with meat, potatoes, and ap- 
ples. She is to go straight home, and not to gossip. 
Jemima is tolerably obedient, yet before she gets to 
the parental first floor she will let all the world of Deal 
Court know about the fat pork and the apple pudding. The 
Deal Court community is as curious about the Gubbinses , 
Sunday dinner as the lower middle classes are to know 
whether the Queen walked in the Park or on the Slopes. 

Jemima being despatched home, Mr. and Mrs. Gubbins 
enter one of the numerous palaces — gin palaces — of Shore- 
ditch. They go into what is called the private bar, at 
which pipe-smoking is forbidden, and " heavy wet," that is 
porter, is not served. Mr. Gubbins brings out his half-pint 
medicine bottle, and requests the youth behind the bar to 
fill it with "Old Tom," and to give him a pint of the 
bee^ mixture known as " Cooper." The barman having 
drawn the beer and blown into the pewter to see if it 
was full, and Mr. Gubbins having blown away the 
froth, hands the flowing tankard to his wife. Gubbins 
is anxious. His better-half is rather partial to beer, 
and generally leaves him the worser half-pint. Saturday 
is such a busy day with Mrs. Gubbins. There is helping to 
get home the mangling ; there is cleaning the place ; there 
is cleaning the children, which Mrs. Gubbins says is equal 
to standing for six hours at the wash-tub. If, then, she 



SATURDAY NIGHT MARKETING. / 

drinks more than her share, she is to be forgiven. Mr. and 
Mrs. Gubbins having refreshed, visit the grocer's, where 
amongst other things, Mrs, G-ubbins will buy a quarter of a 
pound of tea. Well, to be sure, it is a crush to get into the 
grocer's. Gubbins does not attempt it, but leaves his wife 
to fight it out, and meantime goes to the tobacconist's for 
his usual supply of the weed. Sly Mr. Gubbins ! Does 
not a fascinating damsel vend the tobacco ? Clever young 
woman ! All her male customers are enraptured with her, 
but the female snuff-takers consider her "a 'orrid and 
hodiouscat." Gubbins is as innocent as a lamb, yet enjoys 
the unfounded idea that the young damsel is a little taken 
with him. 

At length Mrs. Gubbins is nearing the grocer's counter 
What a splendid text for an anthem of praise does that 
shop afford ! Do you deny that a cup of • tea is a boon ? 
Years ago the poorer classes could not afford to drink good 
tea, but they can do so now. Not by reason of free trade only, 
but through a countless number of agencies. To buy that 
quarter of a pound of tea with the limited means of Mrs. 
Gubbins the labours of the Free-traders were indeed neces- 
sary, but not these only. Those who advanced and improved 
the art of navigation, those whose valour and diplomacy 
opened China and India to the commerce of the world — . 
those who invented machinery by which England is enabled 
to clothe the East — all these and ten thousand other noble 
and wise deeds were necessary preliminaries to Mrs. Gub- 
bins getting a quarter of a pound of mixed tea for 8|d. 
How the Euler of all the Earth has circumscribed the in- 
fluence of our selfishness ! We may labour for fame, or for 
riches, or for family, or for a class, but whatsoever good 
thing we do is done unto all mankind. It may or ma}^ not 
be that this principle is equally true of evil, but it is certain 
that whatever good we do is not interred with our bones, 
but is an everlasting and, so far as mankind is concerned, 
a universal benefit. Mrs. Gubbins, of course, does not 
bother herself with philosophy. To her the tea only sug- 



8 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

gests the thought of a warm drink. Being served, she 
rejoins Gubbins, who is slightly pensive and, perhaps, peni- 
tent in respect to the tobacco-shop enchantress. 

Soon after nine our couple return to Deal Court. The 
children are safe and sleeping. At least, they are pretend- 
ing to sleep, for Jemima has been entertaining them with 
an account of the marketing, and the arrangements for the 
Sunday dinner. So much, then, for the Saturday night mar- 
keting of the Gubbinses ! Putting aside the little disagreea- 
bles, the lack of refinement, and the time of night,, it is, after 
all, not an unpleasant picture to look upon. Would to God 
such was the invariable character of Saturday night mar- 
keting in London ! 

Once more to Shoreditch. Do you see that woman steal- 
ing out of the pawnbroker's — tall, thin, haggard, and 
dressed in draggling black ? She has just received a 
few shillings on a pair of blankets and on some child's 
clothing — only fourpence on the latter, and she let fall a 
tear when she parted with the little bundle. See her glide 
into the baker's for some bread, and into the chandler's for 
some candles, and then home. Let us follow her. In the 
worst room of perhaps the worst house of Spitaliields, see 
her sitting. Where is her husband ? Oh ! dead, months 
ago. Her eldest daughter, the same age as Jemima Gubbins, 
is away doing a little charing for a tradesman at twopence 
per day and her board. Her boy has been apprenticed by 
the parish. She has a third child in the room with her — 
a fair-haired child, the pet of the family. It was five years 
old yesterday. It is in bed. It was this child's clothes 
the mother pawned — oh, how cruel ! No matter ! the child 
is dead, and will never need them more. " What a relief 
to the wretched mother !" says the parish poor law guardian. 
Ah, wretched mother, indeed ! To bury her child will cost 
her about three shillings more than she has been able to get 
together. She goes to the bed — well, well, to the straw — 
on which her child is lying. Death in this case was as 
much like sleep as it can be, yet even then it was fearfully 






SATURDAY NIGHT MARKETING. 9 

different. The mother cried, never thinking that it was a 
relief to lose her child. These poor people are not political 
economists. It was noteworthy how, as she turned from the 
bed, she tucked in the tattered cloak that covered her child, as 
though the little one was only dozing, and might get cold. 
She knew it was dead ; but a mother does not easily realise 
that her child is but clay — but clay. The outburst of grief 
is over, the candle is lighted, and she begins to sew. Let 
her persevere — and if her taskmaster is not worse than the 
average — she may earn nearly a penny an hour. The door 
opens. The daughter has returned from her day's work. 
She kisses her mother affectionately, and the mother caresses 
her child. And the mother is touched with the sorrow of her 
girl ; and, to lighten it, tries for a moment to forget her 
heavy bereavement. She endeavours to look cheerful, and 
almost succeeds, and reproaches her child with giving way 
to grief. The girl has looked towards the bed, and is sob- 
bing. 

" Mother," says the girl, "let us go and buy the coffin." 

" On Monday," says the mother, pointing to the work 
on the table. 

<t "We've got it, mother ; missus heard of our loss, and 
gave me that," said the girl, putting down five shillings on 
the table. 

Then the mother went to the little bed, and her girl was 
by her side, and they kissed the child, and with a piece of 
tape measured it. Then they went to the Saturday 
night market. Eirst to the pawnbrokers, and redeemed 
the little bundle of the dead child's clothing. " "We 
will keep them now," said the widow. Then to the under- 
taker's. It was a large and thriving establishment. The 
shop was filled with coffins of all sizes, and men were busy 
nailing the cloth on a coffin that had to be sent home that 
night. The widow paid the undertaker the stipulated price, 
and he told her that the funeral could take place on the 
morrow. Undertakers do not give credit to poor people. He 
promised that the child should be buried like a lady. "Well, 



10 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

he was not so very wrong. Even an undertaker cannot cheat 
the dead. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, happens to all, no 
matter how pompous or how plain the funeral. Plumes and 
trappings do not inspire, nor does their absence deprive us 
of the hope of immortality. It comforted the widow 
and her daughter to be told that the child would be 
buried like a lady. There was no sin in that feeling of 
pride. 

The widow produced the piece of tape, the measure of the 
dead child, and the undertaker gave her a plain deal coffin, 
As the widow's scanty shawl would not cover it, he wrapped 
it for her in a piece of sacking — the sacking to be returned. 
The mother and daughter hasten home with their marketing. 
At the door the son is waiting — afraid, poor boy, to go 
alone into the chamber of death. They enter the room, 
and the candle is lighted. The mother places the coffin 
on the table, and goes to the truckle bedstead. The frighted 
boy clings to his sister, and the widow sobs and moans 
in the bitterness of her affliction. 

"Oh! what shall we do, what shall we do now?" ex- 
claimed the girl. 

The mother heard the cry, and remembered the living. 
She could not speak, but she came to her children and kissed 
them. Then she took the coffin, and, with the girl holding 
the candle, again went to the truckle bedstead. The boy 
tried to follow them, but he could not. He sat on the chair, 
and covered his face in his mother's work. 

The widow set down the coffin, and the candle was placed 
near to it. She saw that her girl was very pale, and 
she smiled upon her to encourage her. And the girl 
kissed her mother. Then the mother and the girl lifted 
the dead child as gently as if they feared to wake her, and 
laid her in the coffin. The death coldness struck their 
hearts, and they trembled a little. And the mother cut off 
three locks of hair — one for each of the living. Then she 
went to her boy, and cut off some of his hair, then of her 
girl's, then of her own, and she put the hair upon the bosom 



SATURDAY NIGHT MARKETING. 11 

of the dead. And she brought the boy, half dragging him 
to the coffin, and the brother and the mother and the sister 
kissed the dead child. 

By an instinct they knelt down. They used no form of 
prayer. Grief had stricken them dumb. But our Father 
in heaven hears the unspoken prayer of affliction. 

To bed, then, just as the chimes from a hundred church 
clocks are proclaiming the hour of midnight and the advent 
of Sunday. To bed — mother, daughter, and son — huddling 
close to each other. To bed, and it may be to sleep. It 
may be to dream — and in the dream to recall the teachings 
of the Sunday-school, and to see the dead child no longer 
dead. To see her in the ineffable light and glory of the 
Celestial City, clothed in white robes, crowned with an im- 
mortal crown, and with ten thousand thousand angels 
singing songs of praise. Nay, even hearing in the dream 
the everlasting anthem. 

Thank God it is not all a dream. A few hours later, 
when the widow and her children stand by the open grave, 
and the earth rattles on the deal coffin, the priest will tell 
them that the grave has not gotten the victory, and that the 
dead child shall on that day rise again. And the terror of 
the children will from day to day decrease, and the widow 
will not mourn as one without hope. 



12 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 



BUBBLE-BLOWING-. 



The antecedents of Mr. Thaddeus Flyer are a mystery to 
his acquaintance. Who were his parents, what they were, 
and where they lived, are among the things not generally 
known. Mr. Flyer is rich, hut how he became rich is a 
secret that baffles the curiosity of his neighbours. It is, 
however, enough for society that Mr. Flyer exists, that he 
is a highly-respected gentleman, that he has a very proper 
establishment, that his dinners are excellent, and that his 
wines delight the palate and exhilarate the spirits, without 
involving the penalties of soda-water and headache in the 
morning. 

Mr. Thaddeus Flyer and all his belongings inspire an idea 
of most solid respectability. The worthy gentleman is a 
portly individual, verging on fifty. His features are a cross 
between Saxon nobility and Amsterdam Judaism. His iron 
grey hair is cropped short, his lip and chin are thoroughly 
effeminated by the razor, his whiskers are so precisely ar- 
ranged that a magnifying glass would not disclose a single 
hair awry j his feet are small, his hands are ditto, and very 
white ; his dress is generally black, and the only indica- 
tions of jewellery are a signet ring, a very valuable diamond 
ring, and half-a-dozen links of a massive gold chain. Mr. 
Flyer resides in a square near to Eegent Street, in an old- 
fashioned substantial mansion. The furniture and appoint- 
ments are in unexceptionable taste. Whilst they testify 
to the pecuniary resources of the host, there is no vulgar 
show or pretension. The carpets are of subdued colours, 
but so thick that the creekiest of boots pass over them m 
silence. The walls are covered with costly pictures in neat 



BUBBLE-BLOWING. 13 

frames. The plate is heavy, but old-fashioned. Neither 
the somewhat stout butler, nor the tall servant-boy is in 
livery. From first to last Mr. Flyer and his establishment 
are the types of unspeculative and Three -per-Cent. Consols 
respectability. 

Mr. Flyer is a bachelor, and quite a pet with the majority 
of the double f. — fair and frail — sex, as he, to his batchelor 
friends, facetiously describes the sweeter half of mankind. 
Mothers with marriageable daughters hate him as in duty 
bound. What can be a more pernicious example to young 
men than a happy and well-to-do bachelor of fifty? In 
their maternal solicitude these dames invent and circulate 
naughty calumnies about Mr. Flyer ; but for all that he is a 
prodigious favourite with widows and with forlorn maidens 
who are forced to resort to rouge, to pearl powder, to false 
locks, and false teeth, to mask the evidences of advancing 
years. When Mr. Flyer is chaffed about his single blessed- 
ness by married men, he says : — " I love and respect the 
sex. I do not want to be cured of this amiable and plea- 
sant weakness, and therefore. I do not marry." But, though 
a bachelor, Mr. Flyer leads an unexceptionably regular life. 
He has a family pew at the parish church, and every Sun- 
day morning he may be seen at two minutes to eleven 
gracefully leaning on the pew-door worshipping the inside 
of the crown of his hat. He subscribes munificently to 
local charities, but he does not allow his name to be pub- 
lished. His humility does not go unrewarded, for his unosten- 
tatious benevolence is the theme of conversation in his circle. 
Mr. Flyer is *proper — not pious. With him religion is 
only a social duty, and he goes to church because it is 
etiquette for the head of a respectable establishment to 
do so. He is fond of hunting and shooting, though he does 
not keep a country establishment. He says he finds 
London is the best hunting county, for by the railways he 
can go to half-a-dozen of the finest meets, and be home in 
time for a quiet dinner. He plays at billiards moderately 
well, but never wins much. He plays at whist very well, 



14 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

but will not exceed crown points. He objects to gambling 
on principle. He is a very abstemious man. His guests 
may drink what they please ; but he never imbibes more 
than two glasses of sherry mixed with water. He keeps 
first-rate cigars for his visitors, but he does not smoke. Mr. 
Flyer is free from small failings. He is neither slow nor 
fast ; he hits the credit medium of perfect respectability. 

But Mr. Flyer is not an idle man. In his well-appointed 
mansion is a study, and in this study Mr. Flyer works many 
hours per day. He is not an author or a politician. He 
devotes his genius and time to the furtherance of the 
trading interests of England. In a word, he is a pro- 
moter of joint-stock enterprise. He is a Bubble-Blower. 
Perhaps five per cent, of the new undertakings that are 
announced in London are due to his activity. Yet his con- 
nection with them is never avowed. Why should so bright 
a light be hidden under a bushel ? We shall be doing a 
service to our generation, and be giving Mr. Flyer his 
deserts by rescuing his name from oblivion, and setting 
forth how he assists in the development of the material 
resources of the country. We propose to do so by describ- 
ing how he blew the bubble of Smith, Jones, and Co. 
(Limited). 

Messrs. Smith, Jones, and Co. are a firm who have a 
counting-house in a little place in Gracechurch Street. Mr. 
Smith had been unfortunate in bygone years, and had on 
more than one occasion been compelled to seek that protec- 
tion which the laws of the land give to insolvent debtors 
against their importunate creditors. Mr. Jones had been 
connected with the coal trade on commission. The Co. was 
a myth. The worthy Mr. Smith and the not less worthy 
Mr. Jones, upon a capital of a very limited amount^ entered 
into the wine trade. Not to put too fine a point upon it, we 
may state that the capital of Messrs. Smith and Jones was 
what may be called algebraically a minus quantity. They 
began without property and with debts. Being ingenious 
and persevering, they succeeded in getting goods on long 



BUBBLE-BLOVING. 15 

credit and selling them for cash. There is a popular notion 
that if a trader sells his goods for less than he pays for 
them he cannot live. This is a fallacy. Smith, Jones, and 
Co. dressed well, lived well, and kept up charming suburban 
establishments ; yet, as a rule, their wines cost them 25 per 
cent, more than they realised. Amongst their customers 
was Mr. Thaddeus Flyer. It happened that the Joint Stock 
Bank favoured with the account of Smith, Jones, and Co., 
from some unaccountable reason, informed the firm that 
they could discount no more bills at present. This was 
awkward, as Smith, Jones, and Co. did not stand well in 
the open Market. One bill-broker to whom they applied 
for accommodation had the impudence to intimate that he 
would rather discount brown paper without any signateires 
at all, for then he might use it for packing parcels, but that 
the bills of Smith, Jones, and Co. were useless as well as 
valueless. In this fix, Mr. Smith, the senior partner, called 
upon Mr. Thaddeus Flyer, to see if that gentleman was in- 
clined to assist the firm in its difficulties. Mr. Flyer at 
once perceived that there was a favourable opportunity for 
the exercise of his patriotic benevolence. He told Mr. 
Smith that his difficulties arose from the want of sufficient 
capital, to which proposition Mr. Smith fully assented. 
The disease was indisputable, what was the remedy ? Mr. 
Flyer suggested the formation of a joint-stock company, 
limited ; and Mr. Smith was delighted with the sug- 
gestion. 

The books of the firm were placed in the hands of a clever 
accountant, who from them concocted a balance-sheet of a 
most satisfactory aspect. It appeared, though neither 
Mr. Smith nor Mr. Jones knew it, that the profits of the 
firm were many thousands a-year. Smith, Jones, and Co. 
were shippers. For example : they bought sham Champagne 
in Germany at 16s. per dozen. This they sent to India and 
the colonies invoiced at 60s. per dozen, receiving an advance 
from London houses at the rate of 25s. per dozen. It was 
the same with other wines. As the firm had not been very 



16 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

long establised, no account sales had been received from 
India or the colonies, and the wines were set down in the 
books and on the balance sheet at the invoice prices. Hence, 
according to the books the profits were large. 

We may here observe that when the wines were sold they 
did not fetch enough to pay the shipping and other charges. 
Of course Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones could not be blamed 
for this result. They are not responsible for the Anglo- 
Indians and the dons of Australia not relishing Ehine wine 
converted into Champagne by sugar and gas. 

Mr. Flyer was satisfied with the balance-sheet, and forth- 
with set to work to get up a company. Through an 
advertisement he engaged a young gentleman as secre- 
tary at £500 a-year, who amongst other qualifications 
had £500 to advance for preliminary expenses. When 
we say that Mr. Flyer engaged the young gentleman, we 
mean that he put Mr. Smith in the way of^doing so, for Mr. 
Flyer never interfered in such details. The secretary was 
congratulated on his good luck in being selected out of nearly 
two hundred candidates. Mr. Flyer then drew up a pro- 
spectus, of which the following is a copy : — 

"SMITH, JONES AND CO. 

(limited). 

CAPITAL, £250,000, 

In 50,000 Shares of £5 Each. 



In introducing this important undertaking to the public, the direc- 
tors feel that a very brief explanation will be sufficient. A glance at 
the Board of Trade returns for any quarter will show that the wine 
trade of this opulent country has increased and is increasing. It is 
for the most part in private hands, yet it offers a legitimate and highly 
lucrative opportunity for the application of the great joint-stock prin- 
ciple. Much might be written about the enormous social benefits 
that will accrue from a company that fosters the sale of that which 
maketh glad the heart of man. Much might be written on the 
patriotic character of this enterprise, seeing that wine pays a duty, 



BUBBLE-BLOWING. 17 

and that the consumption of wine stimulates the foreign commerce of 
our native land, and so carries to distant seas that glorious flag which 
has for a thousand years defied the battle and the breeze, These 
reflections will naturally occur to the Christian and the patriot, and 
it will recommend c Smith, Jones, and Co. (Limited) ' to their prayers 
and sympathies. But the duties of the directors are exclusively 
commercial. The question they have to deal with is this : — Will the 
company pay ? Upon this point it will be enough to state that the 
business of the wine merchant is only limited by the amount of his 
capital, and that the average gross profits are not less than 50 per 
cent. 

The directors have purchased, on terms most favourable to the 
company, the flourishing business of Messrs. Smith, Jones, and Co. 
The books of the firm have been examined by an eminent accountant, 
and he reports that the profits of the past six months were over 
£7,000, or at the rate of £15,000 per annum. Tor the stock and 
goodwill, Messrs. Smith, Jones, and Co. have accepted the inadequate 
sum of £50,000, of which one-third is to be paid in cash, and the 
other two-thirds in paid-up shares. The shares are not to be parted 
with until a dividend of 20 per cent, has been declared. Messrs. 
Smith, Jones, and Co. guarantee a minimum dividend of 10 per cent, 
for the first two years. 

The directors, after careful inquiry, are persuaded that the average 
dividends will not be less than from 30 to 40 per cent., and that a 
sounder and more splendid investment is not in the market. The 
company starts with an established business, and therefore, from the 
first, there will be an accumulation of profits. The senior partners, 
Mr. Adolphus Smith and Mr. Jabez Jones, have joined the direction, 
and, consequently, the company will have the invaluable advantage of 
their experience. 

The directors beg to say that no promotion money will be paid, as 
they consider that an illegitimate tax upon joint-stock enterprise." 

Having prepared the prospectus, Mr. Flyer called on his 
friend Colonel Rigge, C.B., and proposed to him to become 
chairman of the company. The Colonel, whose tastes were 
considerably in advance of his means, was just the man for 
the post. He only* stipulated that he should have no bother, 
and receive £250 per annum. 

" I don't much like going into a trading concern, Flyer." 
"Oh, my dear Colonel," said Mr. Flyer, "any other 

c 



18 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 






trade would be detestable, but the wine trade is, in my 
opinion, the link between commerce and non-trading re- 
spectability." 

" Shall I have to take any shares, Flyer ?" 

"Yes, Colonel, but they will cost you nothing. In this 
company the directors are not presented with their qualifi- 
cations, for shareholders do not like the system, but they 
take the required number of shares, and the secretary 
manages the payment by a sort of legal fiction." 

" It seems a good thing, Flyer, why do you not take it 
yourself?" 

" My dear fellow, I have not a handle or a tail to my 
name. I am neither a Colonel nor a C.B." 

" Ah, there is some use in that C.B. after all." 

The Colonel was right. He had been living on the 
strength of it for ten years. 

Having secured the chairman, Mr. Flyer was enabled to 
complete the dramatis jpersonce of the company by corre- 
spondence, as he always kept by him a list of men who 
were ready to go on any board. The direction stood as fol- 
lows : — 



" Colonel Rigge, C.B. (Chairman), Bengalee Club, Pall Mall, and the 

Rookery, Yorkshire. 
Adolphus Smith, Esq., The Cedars, Hampstead. 
Jabez Jones, Esq., The Poplars, Putney. 
John Sloper, Esq. (late of the firm of Dunn, Sloper, and Co., of 

Bombay). 
George Sprouts, Esq. (late of the firm of Sprouts, Sprouts, and 

Co., Melbourne). 

With power to add to their number. 

Bankers.— The Poultry Bank (Limited). 

Auditors. — Messrs. Levy, Docket, and Co. (accountants). 

Solicitor.— Alfred Faker, Esq. 

Brokers. — Messrs. Hornby and Welsh er. 

Secretary. — Peter Gosling, Esq." 

Offices were taken, and elegantly furnished, with Mr. 



BUBBLE-BLOVING. 19 

Gosling's money. The company was advertised upon credit, 
by an agent, and advertised very extensively. In a few 
days Mr. Smith called upon Mr. Flyer with rather a long 
face. 

" My dear sir, I see by the papers that the list is to 
be closed on Saturday, and really we have no applications 
for shares !" 

Mr. Flyer smiled one of his beautiful benevolent smiles. 

" Pray make yourself quite easy, my dear Mr. Smith. I 
am very glad we have few applications. You will see why 
in the course of a month or so." 

The share list is closed, and the directors meet. They 
appoint an allotment committee, which consists of Colonel 
Rigge, C.B., Mr. Sloper, and Mr. Sprouts. As the Colonel 
has gone to Baden-Baden (by the advice of his lawyer) for 
the benefit of his health, the labour of allotment devolves 
entirely upon Messrs. Sloper and Sprouts, who act upon 
the advice (gratis) of Mr. Flyer. About 1,000 shares had 
been applied for by the public, and these are allotted in 
full. The number of shares necessary to complete the legal 
establishment of the company are allotted to the friends 
of the committee, and are left in the care of the com- 
mittee. 

Then begins the process commonly known as " rigging 
the market." Some of Mr. Flyer's friends, on his recom- 
mendation, are willing to sell, and some are willing to buy, 
shares at 2 per cent, premium. Forthwith the papers quote 
the shares at 2 per cent, premium. Those who have had 
letters of allotment are delighted, and all the prudent ones 
sell, and sell without any difficulty. Higher and higher 
goes the price. Some of Mr. Flyer's friends are willing to 
buy at 4 per cent, premium, and some are willing to sell at 
4 per cent, premium, and the consequence is that the shares 
are quoted at 4 per cent, premium. Mr. Smith now per- 
ceives why it would have been inconvenient if there had 
been too many applications from the public. As it is no 
one can say that the directors are mating the public, for no 

c 2 



20 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

one can say that his application for shares was refused. 
The business progresses. The public swallow the bait, and 
buy at a premium. At length, Mr. Flyer is enabled to get 
rid of 5,000 shares, at from 4 to 6 per cent, premium. It 
must not be supposed that Mr. Flyer has made from £10,000 
to £20,000 profit. Nothing of the sort. "Bigging the 
market " is a costly process. So many have to share the 
spoil, and the market is not inflated without a heavy ex- 
penditure. Mr. Flyer, who adopts the system of quick 
returns, is contented to net about £2,000 by the sale of his 
shares, and as he knows the exact time when the bubble 
will burst, he pockets another £1,000 by selling some 
shares for the account. He does not neglect his friends. 
He is noted for being liberal with the "swag." Mr. 
Faker, the solicitor, sells his 200 shares at the right moment. 
Messrs. Smith and Jones do not make much out of the share 
transactions — Mr. Flyer would not allow them to have their 
shares formally allotted — but they get ,£2,000 of the purchase 
money out of the first call that is made, and out of that fund 
the fortunate secretary also gets a quarter's salary. 

Have you seen little urchins with soap, water, and clay 
pipes ? It takes some time to get the lather of the proper 
consistency, and to set a bubble fairly afloat. The collapse 
is, on the contrary, the work of a moment. So it is with 
financial bubbles, and so it was with " Smith, Jones, and 
Co. (Limited)." In less than a year there is an extra- 
ordinary meeting of the shareholders. The directors find 
it their duty to state that their affairs are not so prosperous 
as they expected, and they place themselves in the hands of 
their constituents. After a somewhat stormy debate a re- 
solution is passed to wind up the affairs of the company. 
Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones are regarded as martyrs even by 
the unfortunate shareholders. These gentlemen, in a most 
generous spirit, give up their 6,000 paid-up shares, and will 
look only for the balance of the purchase-money due to 
them. A winding-up order is obtained. About a hundred 
shareholders are ruined, including several widows and retired 



BUBELE-BLOWING. 



21 



tradesmen, and the creditors, including Messrs. Smith and 
Jones, get 5s. in the pound. 

"What can be more admirable than the tact and skill of 
the benevolent and respectable Mr, Thaddeus Flyer ? The 
money he made cost the company nothing. Messrs. Smith 
and Jones have learnt that there is an exception to the 
rule ex niJiilo nihil fit, for out of less than nothing they 
have got about £7,000. That the company came to grief 
is not Mr. Flyer's fault. It is his business to blow bubbles, 
but not to keep them from bursting. ]STor will he "be dis- 
couraged. He will still devote his inestimable talents to 
the promotion of joint-stock enterprise, and to the develop- 
ment of the unlimited resources of this great, glorious, free, 
and Christian country. 

Nor will the public be discouraged. No matter what ill- 
natured persons say, little capitalists will confide in the 
glowing promises of the adroit bubble-blower. "We withdraw 
that word "adroit." There is no adroitness required to catch 
gulls who perch upon one's hands and ask to have salt put 
upon their tails. Mr. Thaddeus Flyer is a type of a class, 
.and " Smith, Jones, and Co. (Limited)," is a type of en- 
terprises that are from week to week launched upon the 
market. So long as the public are confiding, so long will 
the Flyers continue to practise the lucrative art of bubble- 
blowing. 

Not that we intend utterly to denounce either the dupes 
or the dupgrs. We suppose folly and roguery have their uses. 
A friend o'f ours was talking to a Millenniumist. " Sir," 
he said, " do you mean to say that in the Millennium there 
will be no war, no crime, no intrigue, and no division ?" 
The Millenniumist told him it would be so. "Then," said 
our friend, " I am glad that I do not live in the Millennium 
time. What on earth should I do with my sons ? One is 
a soldier, another is a lawyer, another destined for the 
church, and my youngest is going to walk the hospitals. 
Bless, me, sir, if we had the Millennium, there would be no 
careers for younger sons and genteel poverty !" Undoubtedly 




22 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

Mr. Flyer's bubbles bring grist to the legal mill. "We 
would, however, respectfully hint that so long as bubble- 
blowing nourishes in England, it is not wise for us to 
denounce the gaming tables of Hamburg and Baden. We 
had better gid rid of the beam that is in our own eye before 
we complain of the mote that is in the eye of our German 
cousins. 



THE BAILWAY STATION. 23 



THE RAILWAY STATION. 



The preliminaries of a railway journey are generally severe 
trials of temper to infrequent travellers. If one has to 
start early in the morning, the night's rest is disturbed 
bj a nervous dread of oversleeping oneself. "We awaken 
up half-a-dozen times, strike a light, and wonder that our 
watch still indicates the very small hours of the morning, 
and we are just settling down into a comfortable doze, when 
the domestic thunders at the door, and warns us that it is 
time to get up. If the train starts later in the day, we are 
subjected to a species of worry rather worse than unwonted 
early rising. With a journey before us, it is impossible to 
attend to the usual avocations, and the hours drag heavily. 
We have studied " Bradshaw," and we find that the hour 
of departure is 1 p.m. We think it is 1 p.m., for " Brad- 
shaw " has been so abused that we are doubtful whether we 
have rightly construed the indispensable guide. We order 
the cab at least half-an-hour too soon, and we fume and fret 
exceedingly because cabby is three minutes and two seconds 
behind the appointed moment. However, we drive fast, and 
arrive at the station three-quarters of an hour before the 
train starts. We endeavour to comfort ourselves by reflect- 
ing that as " time and trains wait for no man," it is better 
to be an hour too early than a minute too late. Likely 
enough, before we are off, we shall have become persuaded 
that it is best to be neither too early nor too late, but 
punctual. 

A porter bears off our luggage, with an injunction to us 
to see it labelled when we have our ticket. When can we 



24 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

obtain our ticket? Ten minutes before the train starts. 
We have nearly an hour to lounge away, and then we are 
to have a crush, and scuffle for our ticket. Bather pro- 
voking this arrangement, and must be horribly exasperating 
to the hysterical lady who arrives at the station an hour- 
and-a-half to soon in order to avoid bother and flurry, and 
to start in comfort. 

We proceed to the waiting-room. It is a lofty and well- 
furnished apartment. The carpet is dusty Turkey, and the 
chairs and sofas are soft and easy. Did anyone ever feel 
jolly in a metropolitan waiting-room? It reminds us of the 
dining-room of the London physician, into which patients 
are ushered until their turn comes to see the doctor. We 
have heard of an unhappy shareholder who, to avenge him- 
self for getting no dividends passes half of his waking hours 
in a waiting-room. By that means he has the consolation 
of getting something for his money. What direct pecuniary 
advantage the gentleman derives we confess is beyond our 
comprehension, seeing that he has to forsake a comfortable 
home, for which, meantime, he has to pay, to get his penny- 
worth out of the railway accommodation. Generally, there 
are but few persons in the waiting-room, and they look upon 
the last comer as an intruder upon their privacy. Most 
likely there are two or three children, who amuse themselves 
by jumping about the chairs and sofas, to the delight of 
their fond parents, and to the annoj^ance of the rest of 
the company. Wise railway travellers always avoid 
little dogs, young children, and unprotected females under 
fifty. 

We look at our watch. Twenty-five minutes past twelve. 
Bah, it must be slow ! Exit from the waiting-room to the 
booking-office. We glance at the clock, and learn that, so 
far from being slow, our watch is a few minutes fast. We 
have a spell at the time-table appended to the wall, and so 
while away a few seconds in tracing the course of our 
journey. We then read over some placards, which inform 
us of Jones being fined forty shillings for smoking, of Smith 



THE RAILWAY STATION. 25 

being sent to prison for seven days for assaulting one of the 
company's officers in the discharge of his duty — it is yery 
rarely that a passenger has a chance of assaulting an officer 
under such circumstances — and of Kobinson being mulcted in 
ten shillings and costs for leaving a train whilst in motion. 
We speculate as to whether these are real or fictitious cases. 
Supposing them to be fictitious, we admire the benevolent 
cunning of railway managers to prevent their passengers 
doing wrong. Suppose them to be real, we ask ourselves if 
it is quite fair, after a man has paid his fine or been to prison, 
to post him for months ? We hear now and then of lords 
and gentlemen being fined for smoking without first paying 
a small fine to the guard ; but who ever saw such cases 
posted at a railway-station ? It is only poor men whose 
offences are kept before the public eye. Eailway managers 
are genteelly discreet, as well as sternly just. 

We pay a visit to the book-stall, and buy some literature 
for the journey. Thanks to the enterprise of Messrs. W. H. 
Smith and Son, who have done as much to circulate litera- 
ture as all the other circulating libraries put together, we can 
obtain everything we want in the way of newspapers, periodi- 
cals, or books. Leaving the book-stall, we notice the 
refreshing announcement of " The Refreshment Room." 
We are not hungry or thirsty, but it would be as well, per- 
haps, to provide for prospective hunger and thirst. What 
can we have ? Oh, almost anything except civility, attention, 
or good viands at a reasonable price. We suppose no one 
ever visited a railway refreshment-room without feeling 
himself cruelly victimised. The coffee is cold and execrable, 
and the milk feathered. The tea resembles a mild decoction 
of senna. The stout is of fair quality, but deficient in quan- 
tity, and a hundred per cent, dearer than at any other place 
in the United Kingdom. The wine is South African, which 
may suit the negro stomach, but is poison to the Caucasian 
stomach. The Cognac, sold in small bottles for the accom- 
modation of travellers, is a British compound of burnt sugar, 
bad sherry, and spirits of wine. The eatables are worthy of 



26 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 






the drinkables. The sandwiches are knify and stale. The 
buns and biscuits would be rejected by the habitues of the 
New Cut. Do not venture on fowl, unless you are prepared 
to have your teeth filled with stringy gristle for the remainder 
of the day. The fowls sold at the railway refreshment-room 
are not slaughtered, but humanely permitted to die of 
sheer old age. The young ladies behind the counter are un- 
pleasantly curt in their manner. They attend to you just 
when it suits them, and they hand you the things as if they 
were poor-law officers dispensing public alms to casual 
paupers. Sour damsels, we will not be hard upon you. It 
must be a wearying occupation to be constantly dispensing 
bad and dear food to strange and scowling customers. We 
trust that the poor creatures are not compelled to feed on the 
stock-in-trade. No, that inhumanity is impossible. Rail- 
way refreshment-room fare for six consecutive days would 
be fatal to the strongest constitution. 

It will soon be time to get our ticket, and, meanwhile, we 
cannot do better than glance at the big world in miniature, 
the people on the platform. That smart-looking man is a 
commercial traveller, and is too used to journeyings to be in 
the least daunted by the confusion. Not a bad companion if 
you are inclined to talk. He will tell you about the markets, 
about the bills he had returned on the fourth of the month, 
about the way in which he secures his customers. If for a 
few minutes he leaves off talking shop, and goes into poli- 
tics, he will give you a hash of the leading articles he read 
to-day and yesterday. We are not describing the best, or 
even the second-best, but the average commercial traveller. 
When a commercial traveller is a man of education, he at 
once sinks the shop, and is as amusing a companion as the 
barrister crammed with circuit anecdotes. Near our com- 
mercial stands a county magnate. He is 'giving instructions 
to his servant about the luggage. Do not travel with him if 
you want to talk. If you are acquainted with him it would 
be all right, for he is well informed and full of gossip, but 
he never converses with strangers beyond offering a few 



THE RAILWAY STATION. 



27 



observations on the state of the weather. Those two young 
men who are pacing the platform as noisily as possible are 
an apt illustration of the mercy of Providence. Their style 
of dress is slightly fast, and you can see that they are 
grandly aristocratic in their own opinion. Ten to one they 
are fledglings in her Majesty's Civil Service. Their father 
is an unfortunate barrister, or country parson, with a hundred 
and fifty a-year. He cannot afford to send them to the 
University, and they have not mettle enough in them to go 
forth and seek their fortune. So the father, who has good 
connections, gets them a nomination to the Civil Service, and, 
after much cramming, they pass the ordeal of examination. 
Unless by influence they will never rise to any other post 
than accrues to them by mere rotation. Yet see how the 
young men are comfortably blind to the actualities of their 
position. They have not the least idea that the maker of 
shoes is altogether a more independent workman than a Civil 
Service quill-driver. ]SIot a word of this is intended as a 
reflection on the Civil Service. Some of the cleverest and 
hardest workers in the country are engaged in it. We merely 
refer to the C. S. ninnies, who are the drags and impediments 
of our public offices. 

It is odd how easily one can tell by which class the people 
on the platform will travel. Those who can afford it do 
wisely in going first-class, and those who cannot afford first- 
class do stupidly in going second-class. The difference in 
comfort between the second and third class on English rail- 
roads is too homoeopathic to be worth a brass farthing, and 
better people — we speak of long journeys — travel by third 
than by second class. That individual who is taking his 
family out of town is a shopkeeper. Likely enough he could 
afford first-class fare, but the expense is too much for his 
nerves. However, he is too genteel to go third-class, and 
so he will join the second-class " would be's !" 

We shall avoid the carriage that fair maiden of thirty-five 
enters. As soon as she is seated, she will open her bag, take 



28 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

off her gloves, put her silver shield on one finger, and her 
thimble on another, and do fancy work. If the weather is 
oppressively hot, she will require the windows up, and if it 
is cold she will require the window down. Old maids are plea- 
sant enough after forty, but from thirty to forty they are usually 
snappish. No wonder. Hope deferred has made the heart 
sick, and it is hard for them to reconcile themselves to the 
thought that their existence is to be a blank — a mere waste. 
Of course we shall not be so foolish as to be shut up with 
that fond mamma and her little ones. The young ladies in 
hats, with light literature in their hands — which they will 
not read — will be pleasant enough for those who know them, 
but we shall not enter their carriage. The etiquette of 
society is necessarily and properly strict, and all ladies who 
are worth talking with are not companionable unless duly 
introduced. 

The third-class passengers are generally conspicuous from 
the ample supply of provisions that they carry with them in 
baskets. That aged couple are knee -deep in the fidgets. 
They have been to London to visit their married son, and 
are glad to go away from such a noisy place. How helpless 
they seem, and indeed how helpless they are ! They are in 
everybody's way. They worry the porters with incessant 
questions about their luggage, and they are asking everyone 
on the platform which is their train. We really do not wish 
to be unkind to our provincial fellow-subjects, but it must be 
admitted that they are rather a nuisance in London, unless 
moving about under efficient guidance. The same remark, 
by the way, applies to your genuine Cockney in the 
country. 

Ten minutes to one o'clock, and here is the train. We 
must be off for our ticket. After much squeezing, we 
get to the paying place. We are directed by an inscrip- 
tion on the counter to examine our tickets and change 
before leaving the counter, which, with the present ten 
minutes' arrangement, is an impossibility. We show our 
ticket to the porter, who is appointed to look after our 



THE EAIL¥AY STATION. 29 

luggage, and are informed that it is already in the van. We 
hope so, but it is in vain to attempt to get any ocular proof 
of the safety of our chattels. 

What are the people staring at ? Oh, there is an invalid 
carriage being attached tp the train. That is all. Is it 
worth while to behold the scene for a moment ? Lying on 
the bed, attended by mother and sister, and nurse, is a young 
girl, looking intently and lovingly at her father, who is 
standing by the carriage. What is the matter with her ? 
She does not seem very ill — that is, not to those who know 
not how one fell disease veils its votaries with what is readily 
mistaken for the appearance of health. How white is her 
skin, and how clear is her complexion ! Her eyes are 
lustrous and dilated. Her cheeks are flushed. She has just 
had some stimulant, after the exertion of moving. But, ah ! 
that thin hand, lying on the cloak, with the fingers nervously 
twitching at the fringe, how it tells of wasting consumption ! 
She is ordered to the sea-side. The physician did not say 
it would restore her, but he said it was the last chance of re- 
covery. The father glares at us almost savagely. What 
right have we to peer into the carriage ? How dare we say 
by a look of sympathy that we think his child is dying ? 
Forgive us, for we respect your sorrow. We will intrude no 
more, not even by a glance at the carriage. Whilst there is 
life there is hope. May the light of your home not be turned 
to blackest darkness ! May your darling be restored to 
health and strength by the sea breezes ! May the order of 
nature not be inverted ! Instead of your closing her dying 
eyes, may she in years to come wipe the perspiration from 
your brow when you are dying, and by her loving kindness 
mitigate in some degree the agony of the last mortal 
struggle ! 

We get into our carriage, and secure a corner seat. It 
will yet be three minutes before the second bell rings and 
the train starts. A long three minutes. How long it must 
have been to the father watching his sick child ! How, no 
doubt, he prayed for the parting that he so much dreaded ! 



60 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

There is nothing more harrowing than the seconds that im- 
mediately precede the separation from those we love. Courage, 
brave father, for already two minutes out of the three belong 
to the eternity of the past. Don't let your breaking heart 
cause a muscle of your face to quiver. Smile as though 
you were glad and confident, for the doctor warned you not 
to dispirit your child. Courage, too, for the mother's sake, 
and for the sake of the trembling sister. But you must not 
attempt to speak. The choking lump in your throat would 
impede your utterance, and betray your emotion. 

There is the whistle, and we are off in a moment. But the 
father cannot abide for that last moment. At the first sound 
of the whistle he turns suddenly from the carriage, and will 
not see the train move from the platform. He did what he 
could, he acted like a true man, but there is a limit to human 
endurance. When the hoarse screech of the engine pro- 
claimed the instant of departure, all the agony of the last 
few hours was renewed and concentrated in a moment. The 
father had been thinking of the early days — of the early 
•days when that child, the first-born, was the pet on which 
father and mother bestowed their fondest love. How she 
grew from day to day in stature and in beauty, and in sensi- 
bility ! As she entered upon girlhood, how almost inordinate 
became the affection, and how jealous he felt of every one 
who seemed to love her ! When she has been sick, how 
great has been his anxiety, and how deep his rejoicing when 
the sickness had passed away ? How carefully she has been 
trained, and how well she has repaid all the care bestowed 
upon her ! Well may her father be proud of her. And now 
that the time of harvest has come — now that for nineteen 
years the love of this child has been growing in his heart, 
she is perhaps to . . . Oh, let us not think of the little 
word that implies the loss of all these fond expectations. 
And all these recollections swept over the father like a tor- 
rent, and at the very last moment he was forced to retreat. 
He dared not give her the parting kiss that he had intended. 
He had borne himself like a hero, and then he turned away 



THE RAILWAY STATION. 31 

to look stern and haggard as lie walked through the streets, 
and to weep like a little child when he reached his solitary 
home. Perhaps, in his solitude, the bereaved father will 
remember, that sad as the parting, it is the indispensable 
herald to the joys of meeting, and that the saddest of all 
partings is but the forerunner of that meeting of which the 
joy is inexpressible and everlasting. 

* Does a train ever leave a London station unladen with 
heavy hearts ? and without leaving behind those who have 
foimd it impossible to utter the words " good bye," which 
signify " God be with you ?" If you want to be cheerfully 
entertained at a railway station, do not spend an hour on the 
departure platform, but pass the hour on the arrival platform, 
where there are not sad partings, but joyful meetings. 



COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 



A CHKISTMAS VISION. 



On a Christmas Day, not long ago, I found myself quite un- 
expectedly in the dining-room of my dear Aunt Letty. It 
was years since I had eaten my Christmas dinner with her, 
and, indeed, it was years since I had seen her. . But there 
she was, as in the olden time, dressed in a gorgeous black 
velvet gown, and on her head one of those jaunty caps which 
I defy any modern milliner to rival. My aunt was one of 
those persons whose hearts never grow old. She was always 
merry, and everybody liked her. She was, as usual, looking 
a little worn with the cares of the season. My aunt's 
Christmas dinner was an institution, and, as I always 
thought, the acme of perfection. Is there any wonder that 
the good soul should look anxious ? Suppose the stuffing- 
balls in the soup should be underdone, or that the jugged 
hare should taste too strongly of the port wine, or that the 
tongue should be hard, or that the breast of the turkey 
should be disproportionately small, or that the joint of 
roast beef should not be so fine a cut as usual, or that the 
plum-pudding, gaily decorated with " Christmas," should 
refuse to come to the table in flames, or that the mince-pies 
should be somewhat sodden, or that the ripe old Stilton 
should not repay the care and wine bestowed upon it ! Poor 
Aunt Letty, how overwhelming would have been her grief if 
any one of these catastrophes had happened ! Besides my 
aunt's, there were many familiar faces in the room. My aunt 
had been a widow for a quarter of a century, and for nearly all 
that period had been engaged to one of the stoutest-hearted 
and best of men. From my childhood I had known Mr. 



A CHRISTMAS VISION. 33 

Tucker, and vividly remember the bright new shillings he 
used to give me. I think he must have had a contract with 
the Mint for a supply of new-coined money ; at least, that 
was the conclusion which we sapient children arrived at. 
Dear old fellow, how cordially he greeted me, and how plea- 
santly he talked of " Auld Lang Syne !" He would do 
justice to my aunt's dinner. Of course Miss Titters was 
there. Oh, admirable Miss Titters ! A very little lady, 
and mind to match, and a very little heart, but all of it 
good. Miss Titters was an old, old friend of the family, 
and quite one of ourselves. She was a maiden lady, I think 
nearly as old as my aunt, but she dressed like a girl, and I 
am angry now to think how unkindly I have sneered at so 
small and amiable a weakness. With her mincing walk, 
her mincing laugh, and her mincing talk, she always be- 
guiled a pleasant five minutes. She had a cousin who was a 
captain, not a volunteer captain, but who had been a genera- 
tion ago in his Majesty's service, and this Captain Bolton 
was the staple of her conversation. Miss Titters, no 
doubt, had degenerated a little from passing the best years 
of her life in boarding houses, but I cannot now recollect any 
of her faults — I only remember her affectionately, as one 
link of that long chain which binds me to a happy and 
never-to-be-forgotten past. Mr. Skirrow, our facetious com- 
panion, was in most excellent spirits. His jokes were not 
new nor original. We had heard them times and times out 
of number, but I am persuaded there never were before 
such good jokes uttered. He told with immense humour 
the story of his Irish friend who was informed before 
going to bed that a negro was stopping in the hotel 
and whose face was mischievously blackened after he fell 
asleep, and who being called by the waiter just in time to 
save the coach, looked in the glass, saw his dark counte- 
nance, rang the bell violently, shouted to the waiter he 
had called the negro, and besought him to call the 
right man, or he should be too late. Mr. Skirrow had a 
sneaking kindness for Miss Titters, and the sneaking kind- 

D 



34 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

ness was reciprocated. There was a great deal of real 
sentiment vented when they bantered each other about 
celibacy. It would need a small volume to give the portraits 
of all who sat down to my aunt's dinner that day ; but I am 
sure they had this in common, that in their hearts was not a 
drop of bitterness. Likely enough each one had a foe, 
but at that time there was no thought of enmity, and if the 
trespasses of each one were forgiven as each one forgave 
the trespassers against him, it was indeed a sinless party. 

At the appointed hour we gathered at the table, which 
Mr. Skirrow always called the " festive board," although it 
was of the best mahogany. If my dear little aunt appre- 
ciated praises, she had her desire. The soup was superlative. 
The jugged hare — my aunt was very proud of her jugged 
hare — was as perfect a production of the culinary art as ever 
delighted the human palate. The breast of the turkey was 
gigantic, and white as the driven snow. The tongue was as 
soft as butter. The roast beef was worthy of old England. 
The pudding was worthy of my aunt, and the mince pies 
were wonderfully puffy. My aunt, dear old-fashioned soul, 
had no new-fangled notions about French wines, and her 
port and sherry were incomparable. It was a custom at her 
dinner-table for the guests to drink to each other, and every- 
body drank with everybody else over and over again, before 
the Stilton, in a beautiful state of mouldiness, made its 
appearance. Then the cloth is drawn, not one cloth, but both, 
and on the mahogany, shining like a mirror, is placed the 
dessert. A glass of wine all round to the health of our 
hostess. The glasses were full to the brim, but not so full 
as our hearts. Aunt Letty smiled, and soon after took off 
her spectacles and wiped them with her handkerchief. Then 
Mr. Tucker returned thanks for my aunt, getting rather thick 
and husky when he spoke of her goodness, and wound up 
by giving the toast of " Absent friends." Mr. Skirrow 
gave his annual toast, " The single married, and the mar- 
ried happy," to which Miss Titters drank with trepidation. 
Mr. Muggins, who was the fast man of the party, and who 



A CHRISTMAS VISION. 35 

told grand tales during the dinner about the rehearsal of the 
pantomime at the theatre on Christmas eve— how the stage- 
manager could not get the supernumeraries to attend to their 
work — how he (Mr. Muggins) got up a little flirtation with 
one of the ballet-girls — how the musical director had 
invented stunning comic tunes by playing Scotch psalms in 
double quick time — proposed in an elaborate speech, which 
he arose to deliver under difficulties, the time-honoured 
toast of " The Ladies." These and many others being 
responded to, the singing commenced. Aunt Letty pro- 
tested that she was too old ; but we could not bear that. 
Aunt Letty grow old, and not able to sing ! After a very 
little persuasion she warbled, with a degree of feeling 
which more than compensated for every artistic imperfec- 
tion, and for the wear and tear of years, the old ballad of 
" Sally in our Alley ;" Mr. Tucker obliged us with " The 
Friar in Orders Grey;" Mr. Skirrow essayed a sentimental 
ballad, and it was fortunate for him that his audience were 
friendly. Miss Titters was evidently affected by Mr. Skirrow's 
song, for she was silent for nearly five minutes, which was 
altogether an unprecedented incident in her history. 

But I must hasten on with my story. Like a vision it 
seems to me now, and must be told briefly. The singing 
over, the tables are cleared away, and the party sits down 
to " Pope Joan." A splendid round game is " Pope 
Joan," — speculation enough in it, and plenty of occasions 
for mirth. "What a laugh when Mr. Skirrow got " Intrigue!" 
What a shout when Miss Titters got " Matrimony !" 

I did not join the card-table. I sat apart, I know not 
why, and looked on. I sympathised with the happiness 
around me, but yet partook not of it. Between me and all 
earthly happiness there was a dark cloud, which no sun- 
shine of merriment could dispel. By-and-by I noticed 
that there was some whispering at the round table, and 
that ever and anon my loving friends looked towards me. 
At length there came a loud sonorous knock at the door. 
The game was stopped. My aunt threw down the cards, 

d 2 



36 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

came to me, and putting her hand upon my shoulder, said, 
" She has come at last, and now you will be happy." 

And whilst she was yet speaking there came into the 
room she who was my world and my hope. I felt utterly 
bewildered. And she came to me as in days gone by, 
kissed me as though we had been parted for hours and 
not for years, and smiled as though she knew not that 
my heart was breaking with a joy that could not be 
uttered. Quite unchanged was my darling, and in all 
the beauty of her girlhood. There was no tracing of care 
or sorrow on her face, and she looked calm and sweetly 
joyful as of yore. 

Let me try in a few words to describe her, only, alas ! to 
realise how utterly impossible it is to convey bywords any im- 
pression of her loveliness. A slim girlish figure. Her head 
perfectty formed. Her hair always wild, and finer than the 
finest silken tresses ever dreamt of. Not dark, yet seeming 
so when contrasted with the paleness of her brow. Her 
forehead large, yet in beautiful harmony with the rest 
of her features. Her eyes dark, liquid, and ever talking 
more eloquently than tongue can do. Her mouth was not 
formed according to rules of art, and yet was passing 
pretty. But it was not her features. Those, indeed, might 
be painted or chiselled, but it was the countenance, the 
sesthetical beauty, which may be felt, but cannot be por- 
trayed. It was singularly animated, and yet singularly 
placid. It was mingled sunshine and starlight. It was 
like unto the incarnate expression of religious ecstacy. It 
was a heavenly glow, the manifestation of the inner divinity, 
the reflection of her pure and holy spirit. If I write 
like a lover, I have an excuse. None saw her without 
loving her, and all who read this sketch, and knew her, will 
wonder why I write so coldly of one who was the material 
type of those brightest dreams which inspire men in the 
heyday of their first and only love. And let me add that 
her character was not less beautiful. A flirt, I think, she 
had been — nay, I know she had been a flirt — and yet not 



A CHRISTMAS VISION. 37 

one thought of evil had entered into her mind. So guile- 
less in her prattle, so innocent in her opinions, she thought 
kindly of all mankind ; and her noble frankness, her spot- 
less truthfulness — for no falsehood had ever polluted her 
lips — were a complete armour to her, and she passed 
through the ordeal of life unscathed. 

Aunt Letty having kissed us both, went back to the 
table, and the game was renewed. I think her stock of 
fishes must have been much reduced by negligence, for she 
was continually looking towards us, and nodding at me, as 
much as to say, " Be happy now." I was supremely happy. 
My darling was leaning her head upon me, and her hand 
was grasped in mine. The first words I spoke were to ask 
her if she would leave me again ; and she raised her head 
from my shoulder, and shook it in a manner peculiar to 
her, and smiled. And the assurance that she would not 
leave me gave me delight that I never experienced before, 
and never can again. 

Who has not realised how true, even as an allegory, is 
the Biblical description of the fall of man ? Who forgets 
the Paradise of Childhood ? Who forgets those days when 
the terrors of mortality were unknown, and when there was 
no consciousness of sin ? Alas ! that the joys of the Para- 
dise of Childhood so soon pass away. We eat of the tree 
of knowledge, and we are driven forth from that Garden of 
Eden. Try what we will, or how we will, we can return to 
it no more, except by the dark valley of the shadow of 
death. Yet is the desert of life not all dreary. There are 
oases in it, where for a little while we rest and gather 
strength for the journey that is before us, unto the land of un- 
broken rest. It was just such an interval of surpassing peace 
that I was blessed with that Christmas night, when my 
darling — mine, then, oh my darling, and mine for ever and 
ever — was by my side. 

Presently, Aunt Letty came again to us, and kissing us 
both, said, " You had better go now, and I will say good 
night for you." The next incident I remember was being with 



38 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

my darling in a railway-carriage. It was the depth of 
winter, and yet not a wintry night. The moon shone 
brightly, a few stars were glittering, and vieing with the 
moonlight, and as we sped along we could see the green 
fields and the leafless trees, and no more beautiful panorama 
could be looked upon. By-and-by our journey was com- 
pleted, and we walked to a loved trysting-place on the 
banks of the Thames. I recollect it was high-water, and 
the river, luminous with the moonlight, flowed on, amidst a 
surrounding silence almost oppressive. And I said to my 
darling, "Oh, if we could die now!" and she replied, 
" Dear one, I do not believe in death, now or ever — rather 
let us talk of life." The silent river became a thing of 
dread to me, and I was seized with a strange, wild impulse 
to cast myself into it. I was conscious that my brain 
was on fire, and that the tumult of joy had almost 
dethroned reason. I said to my darling, " Promise 
never to leave me, never to leave me," and she replied, 
" Never, never ! let us go and register the vow before God." 
Just then I heard the sound of church bells, and I was 
amazed, for it was night. My darling took my hand in 
hers. We passed swiftly across the bridge ; we passed the 
red brick edifice that was once the residence of kings, we 
crossed the green, we entered through a path that I had 
never traversed before, into the midst of the park, and then 
we came upon a chapel. As we went in, my darling whis- 
pered to me, " It is the festival of the Nativity," The 
chapel was almost in darkness, and the moonlight streamed 
through the coloured windows. Even the altar was so 
dimly lighted that we could discern nothing save the white 
vestments of the priests. Yet one perceived with curious 
contradictory distinctness all the decorations. The red 
berries and the mistletoe, the red and white camelias and 
the devices formed with the flowers were 'visible to us. 
There was the odour of incense. After a season of summer 
heat, when a shower falls, the earth yields a rich per- 
fume — its sacrifice of thanksgiving for the refreshing 



A CHRISTMAS VISION. 39 

rain. The incense that pervaded the chapel reminded 
me of this perfume. The choristers were singing that 
part of the " Te Deum" which recites the glory and 
the work of the Saviour. The peculiarity of the music 
was that every note seemed pregnant with thought. Nay, 
the music had power to give acute physical pain, and 
exuberant physical pleasure. As the words " Sharpness of 
death " were uttered with a sort of kissing scream, the 
hearer suffered a mortal agony. Every nerve tingled with 
pain so that a prolongation of that outcry would have been 
unbearable. It passed away, and the memory of it was 
swallowed up in the triumphant shout with which choir and 
organ proclaimed that Christ has opened the "Kingdom of 
Heaven to all believers." The holly and the flowers with 
which the chapel was covered from the ground to the roof, 
rustled, and, as it were, echoed the notes of praise. The 
prayers were over, and a priest stood at the foot of the altar 
and began to preach. Then followed an episode never to be 
forgotten. He seemed not to speak, and yet one felt he was 
speaking and knew what he said. Suddenly the altar 
became wrapt in a blaze of light. It was so dazzling that 
the eye quailed before it. I covered my face with my 
hands, but it was impossible to shut out the light. It 
flashed through the closed eyelids, and seemed to enter 
through every pore of the skin. My darling put her hand 
upon mine, and I opened my eyes and looked towards the 
altar. 

In the midst of the glory about the altar there appeared 
in endless perspective a picture of that memorable scene of 
the shepherds watching their flocks by night, and of the 
heavens opening, and of a multitude of angels, that could 
not be numbered, singing the glorious anthem of " Peace 
on earth, good-will to man." I remember being struck with 
the non-Oriental appearance of the landscape, though the 
shepherds were draped in a loose garment, and with sandals 
on their feet. I was still more surprised to hear the angelic 
host sing the anthem of peace and good-will. Excited and 



40 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

thrilled as my mind was, I could still reason upon what was 
passing. I could not understand by what device angels in 
the picture were apparently made to sing. The pictures, 
which take minutes to describe, came and vanished like a 
flash of lightning, and it was remarkable that in the instant 
the whole subject was unfolded, and even an anthem sung. 
The picture of the announcement of the Nativity faded 
away, and in place of it we beheld a multitude of men and 
women and little children crowding about one who stood 
upon a gentle eminence with a glory around his head, and 
he stretched forth his hands to the right and to the left, and 
as he did so we could see that the men, and the women, and 
the children were filled with gladness. The scene changes. 
A dark, drear, and wasted plain appears. On a little hill 
is a representation of the Crucifixion. There was a gloom 
that appeared almost sensible to the touch, and there 
reigned an awful silence. Again the scene changes. We 
see a cave, and in it lying a dead man. By the side of the 
corpse was Death, hideous figure, seated on his pale horse, 
watching intently the face of the dead man. Above the 
cave, and high in the heavens, there appeared standing a 
host of angels, with their harps by their side, and their 
crowns at their feet, and they seemed to tremble and quake 
exceedingly. There was a pause. Grim Death leered 
triumphantly. There was a shout, as it were, from the 
throats of a myriad of demons — "Who can resist thy 
sting? thou hast gotten the victory." And the angels, 
appeared still more exceedingly to tremble and quake. 
Another pause. Slowly arose the dead man. With a 
horrid screech, echoed by the myriad demons, Death fled 
on his pale horse, and there was a shout of triumph which 
drowned the cry of despair. The angels, with the noise of 
ten thousand thousand trumpets, exclaimed, " Oh, death, 
where is thy sting — Oh, grave, where is thy victory?" 
Then the angels were crowned again, and, taking their 
harps, they sang " Hallelujah, hallelujah, to the Lamb of 
God !" 



A CHRISTMAS VISION. 41 

The glory faded from the altar, but there was no more 
darkness, and I looked round upon my darling, and I was 
surprised to see her dressed as a bride. The priest came 
from the altar to where we were kneeling. He placed my 
hand in hers, and said, " God has joined you, and no man 
can part you." I put my arms about her, and I felt her hot 
breath upon my face as she kissed me. I said to her, " Oh, 
darling wife, this joy is too great, what shall I do — -what 
shall I do ?" I seemed to be falling ; I felt faint ; I felt 
that the faintness of death was upon me, when 

* * * ■* ***** 

There is a knock at my door. 

I awoke — it is Christmas morning. Not that day did I 
forget, nor yet in days to come shall I forget the Christmas 
vision. Never in any days to come shall I cease to remem- 
ber vividly — and to love, passionately — my sweet Christmas 
wife. The vision, indeed, was unreal in many respects ; but 
as to her beauty, her goodness, and her love, it was true. Ah, 
my sweet wife, I forget not what you said to me as we stood 
hy the. river. Ah, my darling, ever in my loneliness I am 
not alone. Neither, darling, do I believe in death, now or 
ever. Whom God hath joined, Death cannot part. 



42 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 



A BKEEDING ESTABLISHMENT. 



It was raining, as it had been doing, with brief intervals 
of fog, for three or four months. As we — the " we " stands 
in this case for self and friend — as we sped along in a com- 
fortable railway carriage, the prospect was anything but 
cheering. We were bound for a breeding establishment, 
and the idea of walking about wet paddocks was not ex- 
hilarating. Our friend, who was smoking with the con- 
nivance of the guard, was inclined to temper dyspepsia, 
and indulged in the dreariest of puns and the gloomiest of 
prognostications. He remarked that the weather was like 
the Queen, always "reigning," and apropos of the green- 
ness of the grass, observed that last year we had no keep 
for cattle, and this year he supposed we should have any 
quantity of keep and no cattle. We suggested that, under 
the circumstances, we should have to take our animal food 
first hand, and we told him the story of the Irishman who 
consulted a London physician. Says the son of Escalapius, 
" Take plenty of animal food, and that will put you right." 
About a week later Paddy paid a second visit to the doctor, 
looking worse than before. " Sure, doctor," said he, " I 
tried to do what you told me. I managed the beans and 
the oats pretty well, but the hay and the chaff were too 
much for me. I could not get them down raw, and even 
when fried in butter the stomach was as obstinate as a pig." 
" Why, man alive, what made you try to eat beans and 
oats, and hay and chaff?" "Why," says Paddy, scratch- 
ing his head, " sure your honour told me to take plenty of 
' animal food.' " Even this stale and feeble joke was 
acceptable on such a day, and it led to others quite as 



A BREEDING ESTABLISHMENT. 43 

feeble, which whiled away the time until we arrived at our 
destination. Here we met the gentleman — he really is a 
jolly good fellow — who was to chaperon us over the 
establishment. This gentleman has an alarming knowledge 
of what the professors in London schools and colleges call 
equinatics. He knows the descent of English race-horses 
for at least two centuries. "With horses blood is every- 
thing, A shopkeeper may be the father of a Lord Chan- 
cellor, but a cart-horse will never be the sire of a Derby 
winner. As the "Master" — that is the name the stablemen 
call him — as the Master observed, " Horses do not run 
with their heads or with their blood, but they cannot run 
without them." 

The first business was to refresh at the Master's house, 
which is a charming place even on a soaking day. Just 
large enough to be comfortable, and surrounded by paddocks 
that looked from the windows as carefully mowed as the 
Slopes at Windsor. . Whilst drinking some sherry — none of 
your free-trade stuff, that is only good for the druggists and 
undertakers — we had a glance at the picture gallery. There 
were portraits of horses yet in the flesh, and of horses that 
were in the flesh when Black, and Watts, and Newcomen 
were gestating the iron horse. For the moment there 
seemed to us to be very little in these equine portraits — we 
are not horsey — but on closer inspection, and with the 
assistance of the Master, we perceived that, to use his 
forcible illustration, there is as mucli difference between 
horses as there is between women. Having taken several 
glasses of sherry, but leaving off with a wholesome thirst 
for more — a butt of it does not contain a single headache — 
we set out for the stables. Before doing so, our friend 
whose spirits were wonderfully revived by the sherry, 
thrust a bottle of gin into his pocket. As a rule, stablemen 
are not addicted to teetotalism, but rather incline the other 
way ; and our friend wisely assumed that the bottle of gin 
would be a welcome guest, cheer the heart and loosen the 
tongue. 



44 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

Across the paddocks to the saddle-room — so denominated, 
we suppose, because a few saddles and bridles are hung 
about the walls. It is in reality the parlour, kitchen, and 
hall of the stablemen. The room we entered is like a 
stable without stalls, and furnished like a tap-room, minus 
the pots, spittoons, and sanded floor. A kitchen-range, 
with a roaring fire, a wooden table, built for strength, and 
not for show, three benches around the fire, and a something 
in the corner which is probably a truckle bedstead. Withal 
a neat and clean room, for cleanliness and tidiness are as 
much insisted on in a breeding establishment as in a Bel- 
gravian nursery. There were three stablemen in the room. 
They were sitting staring at the fire, in that condition of 
physical, and apparently mental, composure that is peculiar 
to their class. Ned, the eldest, was a wiry-looking cus- 
tomer. Asa youngster he had been famous for his capacity 
for eating. He had been backed against a Birmingham 
man for a large sum of money to out-eat him. The food 
selected was giblet-pie and bread, and the contest began at 
8 a.m. At 11 o'clock the backers of Ned were informed 
that their man was half a giblet-pie and a quartern loaf 
a-head. At 2 o'clock Ned was two pies and two loaves 
a-head, when the Brum gave up the contest, and Ned 
emptied a basin of sugar, just to show that his wonderful 
appetite was not materially impaired by the morning's 
work. He is no longer the man he was, for now a pound of 
steak for breakfast, and a pork-pie for lunch, takes the sharp 
edge off his appetite. Tom was rather more fleshy than 
Ned, and enjoyed a joke immensely. His noisy laugh was 
a cross between a horse's neigh and an ordinary human 
laugh. Bill was a smartish young man, who from his youth 
upwards had been the nurse, guide, and friend, of a- cele- 
brated stallion. All three had short-cropped, and very 
greasy hair, enormous shawls round their throats, fastened 
with conspicuous pins, and horsified trowsers — that is, 
trowsers fitting closely to the legs and ancles. 

Having seated ourselves by the fire, on the aforesaid 




A BREEDING ESTABLISHMENT. 45 

benches, the conversation began about the weather. Ned 
did not remember such a season since K-edbeard was foaled, 
and that was twenty years ago. Tom opined that it was a 
wetter winter when Shandygaff died from strangles. Here 
the Master chimed in with an anecdote. Walking down 
the main street in Newmarket on a rainy night, he met a 
jockey, and remarked that " Jupiter Pluvius was coming 
down." " Ah !" exclaimed the jockey, " what are they 
laying agin 'im ?" Our stable companions laughed, as in 
duty bound, at the Master's anecdote, but they did not see 
the fun of it. They appeared much more intelligent when 
the Master proposed a damper, and the bottle of gin was 
brought forth. A broken fork was substitute for a cork- 
screw. Glasses were not to be had, but there were two 
teacups and two tin pannikins. The kettle was boiling, 
and the grog was mixed. Ned would not partake of it, as 
he abjured spirits, and stuck to strong ale, so he joined us 
in a cup of tea. Pretty good tea, taken from a paper 
packet with the fingers, and put into a teapot nearly as 
black as the kettle. The only sugar to be had for tea or 
grog was brown sugar, and that peculiarly sandy. There 
was only one spoon. Tom, who was drinking with Bill, 
stirred the grog with his pipe, which, we should imagine, 
gave an additional flavour to the gin-and -water. 

Ned being informed by the Master that we were green, 
and wanted to know a little about breeding, gave us an 
account of the business, which was not particularly lucid or 
connected. It seems, however, that the offspring of aristo- 
cratic horses get more care than is bestowed on the majority of 
the children of men. The dams, the sires, and the foals are 
watched night and day ; their tempers are studied ; they 
are well fed, and every attention is bestowed upon the 
development of their strength. If they are in the slightest 
degree indisposed the doctor is sent for, and if the patient 
is seriously ill the groom must remain up with his charge 
all night. Not that it is any hardship, for the stablemen 
love their horses ; and when we had seen them, we under- 



46 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

stood, and fully excused the fondness. Ned said they had 
"been very lucky this year, as they had a crack foal on the 
2nd of January. "Why was that lucky ? Bless our inno- 
cent eyes ! 

The Master explained to us that the age of race-horses 
dates from the 1st of January. A horse born on the 31st 
of December, 1865, would be in the racing record a year 
old on the 1st of January, 1866 ; whereas, a horse born on 
the 1st of January, 1866, would not be a year old until the 
1st of January, 1867. As horses compete as two-year 
olds, it is all-important to get them foaled as soon after the 
1st of January as possible ; and to be foaled in December 
is fatal to a racing career. 

" Ah," said Tom, " that was a queer start of old Mug- 
gins. It was in this here way. A mare was horrid for'ard 
soon arter Christmas, and she were the crack of the stable. 
Old Muggins were in a sweat, and how he does pray and 
swear that the mare might not tumble to pieces afore the 
fust ! Well, about nine o'clock on the 31st — leastways, it 
were about nine o'clock by the church-clock — the mare 
foaled. Old Muggins calls I and tother chap into his 
room and wishes us a happy new year. He gives us a drop 
o' grog and says, with never so much as a wink, that it 
were jolly that the mare did not foal afore morning. This 
gives I and tother chap a start. I says, ' the mare aint 
foaled an hour.' 'Well,' said old Muggins, ' what's the 
time ?' We said it were about ten. ' Yer be blowed,' said 
he, 'just come and look at my clock.' So me and tother 
chap did, and I am blessed if his clock warnt three o'clock. 
In course there was no disputing that there, and the foal 
was registered according." 

The Master remarked that Tom was as smart as old 
Muggins, and made a pound or two outside the regular 
wages. 

" Yes," chimed in Ned, " so do we, but we does it on the 
square. "Whoever brings mares here get summut, and 
whoever's turn it is to take them home gets a summut." 



A BREEDING ESTABLISHMENT. 47 

" Tom, how do you manage the touts in your part of the 
country ?" asked the Master. 

" All square." replied Tom, " Them there gents comes 
a-prowling about the place to get a summut for to send to 
the papers. Now, Master, we must not tell nothing about 
the stables, and we don't. This is what we does. We stuffs 
'em with lies. So we gets their tin, and we don't break no 
rules. I can't read myself, more can Ned, but Bill can, and 
how we chuckles when we hears of our fibbing tips which 
we have planted on the tipsters." 

The great idea in breeding, so far as we can understand, 
seems to be : firstly, to select a well-bred and symmetrical 
mare ; and, secondly, to put her to one of the most fashion- 
able sires of the day. The produce is almost sure to com- 
mand a large price. If, to talk " stable," " it does not 
turn out a parson, it will make a clerk," or, in other words, 
if it proves useless as a racehorse, you have still the blood, 
which may again be made available for breeding pur- 
poses. 

Mares early in the year are for the most part in an 
interesting condition, which, as a matter of course, neces- 
sitates the greatest care, attention, and judicious manage- 
ment. 

When a mare is about to foal, she is removed to a box 
provided for the purpose, with hot water and other appli- 
ances ready, in case of materfamilias having " a hard time 
of it ;" whilst a groom is always at hand to officiate as 
nurse, should such services be required — comparatively 
speaking, a rarity. In ordinary cases nature does its work, 
and the mare, who almost invariably foals in the night, is 
found in the morning "pretty comfortable," and the preco- 
cious foal on its legs taking nourishment. 

Foaling time is a "trying time" for the stud groom, who 
is right glad when he is enabled to furnish Messrs. Wea- 
therby with a correct return of the current year's produce 
for the stud-book. 

In May or June the yearlings are sold, sent to their 



48 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

trainer's quarters to be broken in, and are at once engaged 
for two and three year old stakes, according to the estimate 
formed of their abilities by their new owners. 

After much instructive and facetious conversation, we 
left the saddle-room to have a look at the horses — begin- 
ning with the stallions. Each of these valuable creatures 
— worth from £3,000 to £10,000 — has a separate estab- 
lishment. A gate is unbarred and unlocked, and we enter 
the straw-yard reserved for the use of the horse which, as 
real names need not be mentioned, we will call the Prince. 
A comfortable yard for exercise when the paddocks are not 
in a fit condition. Rising above the walls, which are eight 
feet high, is a wooden partition, for Prince is playful, and 
was in the habit of putting his front hoofs on the top of the 
wall and looking over, to the imminent danger of injuring 
his costly carcase. Tom unlocks the stable door, and we 
stand in the presence of Prince. "We see the reasonable- 
ness of padding your stable from floor to roof, sweet Prince ! 
There you are snorting, prancing, and striking out your 
legs in a manner rather alarming to us. Tom assures us 
that you have no vice, and that you would not hurt a new- 
born baby. Perhaps not, but we do not wish to test your 
amiability by getting near to your hind legs. What is play 
to a groom is death to an unhorsified individual. We 
remember, Tom, the Master's story, about a groom who had 
to sell a — well, a playful — horse to a greenhorn. The 
greenhorn was informed that the animal was free from all 
tricks and vice. By-and-by the virtuous animal made a 
lunge with his leg, which fractured one of the groom's ribs. 
" Halloa !" said the greenhorn, " that looks like vice. Are 
you hurt?" The groom was equal to the occasion. "Hurt !" 
said he, smiling, "of course not. It is just the way with 
the playful dear to tickle me in the ribs, and it always 
makes my eyes water as if I had been a-rubbing them with 
onions." This clinched the business, and the playful horse 
and the confiding greenhorn were forthwith simultaneously 
sold. Tom having now stripped Prince, led him up to us. 



A BREEDING ESTABLISHMENT. 49 

Prince was disposed to be friendly, and evinced a desire to 
taste one of the buttons of our coat. We held a walking- 
cane in his mouth. Prince bit it with marked enjoyment. 
" Horses likes to bite a stick, sir," said Tom, " and they 
often has a grab at us, not 'cause they're ezactly yicious, but 
'cause they are fond." 

What on earth can we say about you, Prince ? What 
words can do you justice ? You are as beautiful as you 
were on the day you won the Derby. Your skin has upon 
it a glossiness almost dazzling, and yet beneath it, so fine is 
it, one can see the veins through which your proud blood is 
coursing. It is some time since you won the Derby, but 
Time has forgotten to mark you. Your "eye has not lost its 
brightness, your form is not less symmetrical, and you are, 
as of yore, fleet as the wind. 

We stood at the further end of the stable in the spot 
selected by the skilful Master for a favourable view. What 
a neck ! Curving just enough to lend grace to the haughti- 
ness with which the head is raised, as it were, in defiance of 
all creation. It appeared to us that the Prince had a won- 
derfully broad back, but the Master told us that there was 
nothing unusual in its dimensions. Legs thin, but strong 
looking, and planted on the ground firmly. As for the 
thighs, it was wonderful to see how muscle was lapped over 
muscle. 

A grand creature is Prince. Grand and beautiful and 
loveable. There are many of the humanities about a horse 
that appertain to no other quadruped. Lions and tigers 
may be very magnificent in the forest or in the jungle, but 
so, too, is the wild horse magnificent. Here is the dif- 
ference. The horse becomes docile, but without losing any 
of its spirit. There is the caged lion, writhing under con- 
trol. There is the horse, submitting to control without 
writhing, even as man, — that is, a wise and noble-spirited 
man — submits. The finer the breed, and the higher the 
spirit of the horse, the more submissive is he to lawful 
authority. Is it not so with man ? Prince, old fellow, 



50 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

although you are a horse, are you not a sort of a brother ? 
Come here, you pet ! Steady, my darling. It is not the 
thing to hug you; but, sweet Prince, we are not profes- 
sional. Our trowsers do not fit our calves like an extra skin. 
So we will even hug you round the neck. 

Farewell, Prince. And very well you will fare ; and 
you ought to fare well. What a hatfull of money you won 
for your owner during your racing career, and cups and 
plates enough to cover a goodly-sized sideboard ! Now that 
your racing career is over, are you useless ? Useless ! Prince 
brings in from £2,000 to £3,000 a-year as a stud horse. 

"We looked at more stallions, at some mares and foals, 
and, finally, at the yearlings. The yearlings are separately 
stabled from the time of their being weaned in the autumn. 
At present they are rough in their coats — February is an 
unfavourable month for inspecting them — and timid before 
strangers, but are pretty things in their way. . This one is 
bj Prince out of Princess, and was foaled in January last 
year. In about three months it will be sold, and its groom 
expects that it will fetch a thousand guineas ! " Aye," 
says Ned, who looks after the young stock, " I wish my 
produce were worth the like." Yes, Ned, but you are not a 
philosopher. We grant you things are worth what they fetch, 
but depend upon it, Ned, some things are worth more than 
they will fetch. Your " kids " — that is the " stable " word 
for children — would not sell for much ; but, after all, they 
are worth more than foals. Well, Ned, we agree with you so 
far as to hope that the day will come when the children of 
the poor will be as well housed as racing foals. But, Ned, 
we are not all born with a silver spoon in our mouth and 
with blue blood in our veins. Neither are all horses born 
equal. The hack foal has a hard time of it. Look at your 
London cab horse. Don't you remember, Ned, the Master's 
pitiable tale about the cab horse that died in the street from 
exhaustion ? " Veil," exclaimed the cabman, " this comes 
of buyin' cheap 'osses. Ven I spekylates again I'll 'ave a 
good 'un, if I gives thutty bob for 'un." 



A BREEDING ESTABLISHMENT. 51 

In spite of Ned's sage opinion " that them are best off as 
has nothin' whatever to do wi' 'oss flesh," we have — sinee 
our visit — been awfully spoony on it, and read the sporting 
papers with a dangerous relish. We have even suggested 
io our tailor that our trowsers would be improved if they 
were a trifle tighter about the legs. 



e2 



52 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 



TWO MIDNIGHT MEETINGS. 



" I should like to know for what, in the name of goodness,, 
you brought the poor girls into the world, Mr. Gumnier." 

Mrs. Gummer was highly incensed. The Misses Gummer 
had received an invitation to a ball, and their papa had 
objected to their acceptance thereof on the score of expense. 
Perhaps he cannot afford it ; but are his unfortunate offspring 
to suffer for the parental impecuniosity ? Mrs. Gummer was 
aggravated at such mean, paltry, fiddle-faddle. Why did not 
Mr. Gummer rouse himself, and make a fortune as other men 
did ? If Mrs. Gummer had been a man her daughters should 
not have been jeered and sneered at, and snubbed, and 
put upon by everybody. By hook or by crook she would 
have got money. But what does Mr. Gummer care ? So 
long as his wants are satisfied his wife and children may be 
miserable, degraded, wretched creatures. Why did he take 
Mrs. Gummer from her happy home ? For what did he 
bring the poor girls into the world ? 

Mr. Gummer was completely posed. He had been for 
years trying to find out why he had married Mrs. Gammer, 
and the only guess he could make was that he had done so 
in a fit of temporary insanity. As to the girls, he had 
brought them into the world without any particular views, 
or, indeed, without any views at all. But motive or no 
motive, the Misses Gummer are in the world, and the natural 
end and aim of their existence is marriage. But how are 
girls to get married unless they are sent to market ? It is 
not their fault, pretty dears, that they are still on papa's 
hands. They go to a church where all the curates are 
unmarried ; but curates do not place their affections on poor 



TWO MIDNIGHT MEETINGS. 53 

girls. At the sea-side the Misses Gummer have exhibited 
their charms on the afternoon parade ;• they have wandered 
about the sea-shore with their hair dishevelled after bathing, 
and they have gathered around themselves a host of devoted 
admirers. In vain their unremitting exertions. The cold- 
blooded fish, after nibbling at the bait, and sporting with 
the fair anglers, have swum away. But the church and the 
sea-shore are outside places. The ball-room is the legitimate 
and best hymeneal market. There dress and wine, seductive 
music, and exciting dances combine to throw batchelors off 
their guard, and to allure them to propose. Are the Misses 
Gummer to be kept from the market because their papa can- 
not afford to put them into marketable trim ? Were they 
brought into the world to be disgusting old maids ? 
Mr. Gummer relents. Better let his creditors suffer than 
his children. As Mrs. Gummer often tells him, " a man 
who does not care for his own household is worse than an 
infidel." Confound the creditors ! 

Mrs. Gummer is by no means extravagant : that is, she 
makes a great show at a comparatively small cost. The 
Misses Gummer will look "howling swells" for a mere 
trifle. Provided it is silk with a good face, what does it 
signify about the quality of the stuff? Who under tarlatan 
can tell the difference between a Is. ll|d. silk and a 4s. 6d. 
silk ? Plenty of petticoats to make the skirt set out, and a 
handsome-looking ball-dress, bodice included, can be pur- 
chased for a trifle under three poimds, and, moreover, the 
same slip and bodice will last for nearly a season. Gloves 
<lo not come out of papa's pocket. The Misses Gummer do 
a little betting, and their wagers are always for gloves. 
When they lose they do not pay, and when they win they 
invariably choose white gloves, for a good kid will dye well, 
and be — except for the smell — equal to new. Boots are 
rather expensive, but they last for some time. Well rubbed 
with bread crumbs they can be kept in a state of demisemi- 
whiteness for many occasions ; and when they will no 
longer clean they may be blackened with ink, and serve for 



54 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

those minor occasions when it is not indispensable for the 
feet to be shod in white satin. 

Shortly after ten the Misses G-uirimer, under the escort of 
their fond mamma, arrive at their friend's house, partake of a 
cup of tea in the ante-room, and ascend to the ball-room, 
biting their lips by the way, not from vexation, but to make 
them appear very red. For awhile the entertainment is 
somewhat dreary and depressingly slow. The young men 
seem half afraid to approach the vestals, and dance with a 
stiffness that is more decorous than exhilarating. The first 
quadrille is solemn, the first polka is methodical, the per- 
formance of the " Lancers # " would delight a dancing- 
master, and during the first waltz the gentlemen arm 
their, partners without cuddling them. Conversation is 
forced, jerky, and flat. The vestals remark that the room 
is rather cold, and their cavaliers agree with them. The 
gentlemen criticise the music favourably, and the fair ones 
endorse the criticism. There is a little chat about the 
sea-side and the Rhine ; but it is a painful effort. How- 
ever, by midnight the room is warm, the guests are lively, 
and there is no more formality. The before-supper polka 
is danced with loud enjoyment and casino ease. The 
berthas of the vestals and the shirt fronts of the gentlemen 
are in touching proximity. The cavaliers pant compliments, 
to which the vestals respond with speaking glances. Sweet 
arid impressive scene ! The gentlemen are clad in half- 
mourning for their sins, and the ladies are so clad, that 
though they may not be able to attain to the innocency of 
Eve before the fall, yet they are manifestly determined, as 
far as they can, to attain to the nakedness of Eve in a state 
of innocency. Their bodices are designed to reveal those 
charms which in a puritanical age it was deemed modest to 
conceal. The discreet mammas, who know their cue, do not 
attempt by their presence to check the flow of affection, but 
— prudent dames ! — have already, with a few of the papas,, 
made their way to the supper -room, and are busy with the 
best parts of the cold fowl. 






TWO MIDNIGHT MEETINGS. 55 

Miss Cecilia Gummer is taken down to supper by 
Charles Softly, who is rather "green," and w T ho has 
expectations. - The more astute ones remark that " Charley 
is awfully spoony," and the vestals are disgusted that the 
young man should be so taken with the creature in pink 
tarlatan. . It is a stand-up supper, and Charley has ample 
opportunities for exhibiting his devotion. With a tender- 
ness that is really affecting he turns over the pile of fowl 
till he comes to a piece of the breast, for no other part of 
the bird would be worthy to enter the stomach of the fair 
Cecilia. When he hands her a glass of wine he is repaid a 
million-fold for his trouble by the sweet smile that is 
bestowed upon him. The jelly and blanc-mange are agitated 
when he hands them to her. Charley is so enchanted that 
he positively gives Cecilia some trine without the accus- 
tomed joke. What a good, kind, disinterested girl Cecilia 
is ! She absolutely thinks that men have something else to 
do in life besides waiting upon women. She beseeches 
Mr. Softly to take some supper. This unprecedented con- 
descension was almost too much for Charley. He could 
hardly restrain the impulse to nop down on his knees before 
the assembled guests. He relieved himself by pulling a 
bon-bon with Cecilia, and, after the slight explosion, he read 
to her the following motto, which was wrapped round the 
sugar-plum :— ~ 

Oh, dearest girl, my heart is thine, £ 
Shall we for e'er our fates combine ? 
If you reject my proffered suit, 
For ever shall this tongue be mute. 

The next motto was even more sublime : — 

Thine eyes, fair maid, have fired my heart, 

I burn to clasp thee to my breast ; 
I am undone if we must part — 

Oh ! deign to make my passion blest ! 

The sounds of a galop descend through the ceiling, and 



56 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

the supper-room is soon cleared of all except the mammas 
and papas, who are the last to leave, as well as the first to 
come. When we are young we are anxious about the 
heart, and do not care about the stomach ; but frequently- 
after fifty we leave the heart to take care of itself, and pay 
the utmost attention to the claims of the stomach. The 
after-supper galop is encored, and won't the legs that dance 
it suffer for the work next morning? Skirts are torn, 
couples knock against each other, beads of perspiration 
stand upon the brows of the gentlemen, the headgear of the 
ladies becomes disordered, and the conversation is decidedly 
noisy. 

Before the galop is over Cecilia is exhausted, and her 
devoted Charley leads her into a conservatory attached to 
the drawing-room, which is lighted with coloured lamps, 
tastefully arranged. So exhausted is Cecilia that she is 
compelled to accept the support of Charley's arm around 
her waist, and Charley shakes as though he were made of 
hlanc-tnange, or was suffering from a fit of ague. We 
have said he was green, and this was, indeed, his first 
serious affair. He draws Cecilia nearer and nearer to him, 
and she, kind damsel, is not in the least coy. One arm is 
round her waist ; with his disengaged hand he grasps her 
hand, and mutters, " Oh, Miss Grummer !" Fair Cecilia 
bends her head, and replies with a sigh, a gentle sigh, that 
would not disturb the tiniest atom of down that ever floated 
in the air. Cftrley is immensely excited, and he ventures 
to kiss fair Cecilia's forehead. " Oh, you naughty man," 
ejaculates the vestal, and she leans more heavily than 
before on the arm of Mr. Softly, and gives him one long 
look, not of reproach, but of angelic pity. Charley whis- 
pers, " Oh, Cecilia, I love you, may I hope you are not 
indifferent?" The tremulous response comes, "I cannot 
believe it, I don't know what to say." Just as if it was the 
first time she had gone through the ceremony ! Charley 
hugs her to him and imprints a kiss upon her lips. "Oh, 
don't, pray don't," ejaculates the happy fair one. Charley, 



TWO MIDNIGHT MEETINGS. 57 

for his life's sake, beseeches her to say that she is not indif- 
ferent, and that he may have some hope. The vestal 
remembers that Mr. Softly has good expectations, and, 
therefore, hiding her blushing face on the bosom of her 
admirer, she confesses she is not quite indifferent. Charley 
is in ecstacies. In the delirium of his joy he kisses the 
fair and bare shoulder of Cecilia, and the modern Diana 
does not shrink from the ardent embrace. What a beautiful 
amalgamation of chastity and kindness ! How charmingly, 
too, does Cecilia remember the exigencies of business in 
the excitement of pleasure. Only a few minutes are spent 
in the conservatory, yet the offer is made and accepted, and 
the hour is arranged at which the beatified lover shall see 
mamma in the morning. Cecilia is too wise to refer such a 
business to her papa. 

Charley leaves the conservatory wild with delight. He 
has no idea, unsophisticated young man, that the virgin 
heart which he has just bought has been for may seasons, 
like an hotel, open to all comers. 

A few more dances, in which Cecilia does not join, and 
the meeting is over. The jaded beauties get into their 
carriages, and are driven home. Those who have received 
offers, or at least such attentions as promise to lead to 
offers, are happy and contented. Those who have not been 
successful are unreasonably discontented. "When the buyers 
are few, and the supply of stock is large, it is not to be 
expected that every fair one offered will find a purchaser. 
Courage, courage, my dear girls ! Condescend to learn 
patience even from the records of Smithfield. At that 
great mart the creatures that are passed by one day are 
advantageously disposed of at a future marketing. 

•* * * * * * * 

On the same night, not far from the same place, there is 
another midnight meeting. It is held at a public place 
of entertainment — a lecture-halL Fifty or sixty girls in 
bonnets and walking attire are present. About a dozen 
gentlemen, the majority of them ministers of the Gospel, 



58 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

are handing about refreshments, and the air is strongly 
impregnated with the philanthropic odour produced by the 
combined fumes of tea, coffee, and hot muffins. The girls 
are for the most part pretty and well-dressed, though a 
few are poorly clad. There is a great deal of whispering 
going on, and some laughter, but it is that kind of 
laughter which comes from the throat, and which is 
resorted to, not because the heart is glad, but to conceal 
sadness. Presently the gentlemen assemble on a platform 
at the end of the room, and a short prayer is offered up. 
Two or three of the girls bend their heads — the rest sit bolt 
upright, smiling at each other, and looking ever and anon 
defiantly towards the platform. When the prayer is over, 
one of the ministers stands up to speak. He is a venerable- 
looking man, with an earnest, kind countenance, and .his 
voice is inexpressibly sweet and persuasive. Those who 
came to scoff soon begin to listen. The minister draws a 
ghastly picture of the wretched career of a fallen woman. 
He points out how soon the pleasures of sin are over, and 
how terrible is the sequel. The girls do not appear very 
much affected, though they are subdued. Then the minister 
suddenly changes the current of his discourse. He awakens 
in the minds of those who listen to him the remembrance of 
their early days. He speaks of the home of childhood — he 
speaks of father and of mother. There is not a defiant 
countenance now. Tears are trickling down the cheeks of 
many. Some are on their knees, sobbing bitterly, and a 
few, a very few, leave the room. The guilty conscience can 
often resist an appeal to the terrors of the law ; but to an 
appeal to nature, to goodness, and to the mercy and love of 
God, resistance is impossible. The minister proceeds in a 
voice half hushed with emotion, though still sweetly sound- 
ing, and asks the unfortunate ones why they do not return 
to the paths of peace and virtue. Are their parents still 
living ? Then for their sakes he exhorts them to repentance. 
Are their parents dead ? Then he exhorts them, by their 
memory, to repentance. Some persons suppose that the 



TWO MIDNIGHT MEETINGS. 59 

spirits of the dead hover over those they love. My sister, 
is your mother yet watching over you ? Does she follow 
you from haunt to haunt of vice? Can you bear that 
thought ? Is your mother yet watching over you — watching 
to see whether you will or will not forsake your career of 
misery, and be happy now and for ever ? You don't forget 
your mother, my sister. Think of her. How she used to 
fondle you when you were a little child ! Don't you remem- 
ber how proud she was of you, and how, out of her little 
means, she dressed you in fine smart clothes ? She was 
cross sometimes, and you were troublesome. Do you 
remember when you had had a quarrel how she came to 
your bedside ? You pretended to be asleep, and she thought 
you were asleep, and shading the flaring candle with her 
hand, she bent over you and kissed you, and as she kissed 
you a tear fell upon your cheek. Eemember those things 
now, my sister. Eemember the day when you had to go to 
your first situation. How sorrowful your mother was while 
she was packing your trunk ! What a large cake she put 
into it, for fear you should be hungry ! How carefully she 
put the bran-new Bible into it that father bought for you ! 
You cannot forget the parting moment. You cannot forget 
how your father — he was a rough, hardworking man- — how 
your father blessed his girl with a husky voice, and how he 
went out of the cottage suddenly and without waiting to see 
you off ! You cannot forget how your mother, who had 
borne up so well, cried like a little child when she said 
"Good-bye," and how she bade you be an honest girl and 
not to forget God. Do you remember how your young- 
brother told you he would be a man soon, and that he would 
get money, and you should not have to go to service ? 
Your little sissy told you to send her a fine doll from 
London. Then the neighbour, who had come to carry your 
trunk to the station, took it up and left the cottage, and you 
followed him. As you passed through the little garden — 
how neatly father kept it ! — the dog — a big ugly dog — came 
bounding against you, and you stooped down and suffered it 



60 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

to lick your face ! It was a weary journey, though not 
quite a mile to the station. You did not pass a house or a 
tree, or a hedge, that did not recall some scene of the past. 
Do you remember how you kept up your spirits by the hope 
of returning to that dear home ? Are they all dead, my 
sister ? If not, go to those who have loved you, and who 
love you still. It may be father and mother are dead. 
Dead, yet living for ever. Living now, and watching to see 
if to-night you will accept the offer of mercy and of hap- 
piness. What answer will you make ? Surely, surely, 
you will not for ever and ever be parted from them. 
Surely, surely, you will not spurn them. Surely, surely, 
you will not spurn the love and mercy of our Saviour. 

"When the minister ceased, he and the other gentlemen 
left the platform, and went to the girls and sat beside them. 
The minister placed himself by one who was leaning over 
the table with her face buried in her hands. The minister 
spoke to her, and she said, sullenly, " Leave me alone. I 
wish I had never come here." But the minister was not to 
be so repulsed. He put his hand upon her arm, and said, 
-" Come, my dear, speak to me, and tell me how old you 
are." The girl looked up, and angrily replied, " I am 
sixteen." Only sixteen ! What a wan face ! A face not 
furrowed by Time, in preparation for the harvest of Eternity, 
but distorted by care and dissipation. " I have a daughter 
about your age," replied the minister, " and I pray you talk 
with me." It was a hard battle between good and evil. 
" It is no use talking," said the girl, " I don't want to be 
good. I only want to die, and be let alone. Everybody 
despises me and hates me, and I hate everybody. Do let 
me alone." The minister persevered. He drew the girl 
close to him and talked to her about his daughter, and he 
talked so hopefully, so lovingly, that at length the girl was 
^overcome, and she told him some particulars of her life. 
The same old story. The same story of deception and ruin 
that almost all the unfortunates have to tell. The minister 
asked her if her father yet lived. No, he was dead. Her 



TWO MIDNIGHT MEETINGS. 61 

mother? Dead. "Come, my child," said the minister, 
" let me be your father." He pleaded with that girl as 
though he was pleading for his own life. Still the battle 
was not yet won. She would not go to a " home " then, 
but she would think about it. That would not do for the 
minister. He wanted her then and there to begin a life of 
virtue. She was his child ; he could not suffer her even for 
a night to be in a place of infamy. At last, at the eleventh 
hour, there was joy in heaven over a repentant sinner. The 
minister took the girl to a refuge, and she was not the first 
by many whom he had rescued. 



62 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 



nr a Lorooisr police court. 



"Within a sixpenny cab fare of Regent Street, near to the 
mansions of the rich, within a stone's throw of one of the 
finest churches in the metropolis, but situated in a narrow 
lane, where squalor and misery reign supreme, is the police 
court to which we paid a visit at about noon. 
"We cannot say that 

Such a sight as we saw there, 
No mortal saw before, 

but we do not want to repeat the visit. Not that we saw 
anything exceptional. It was a commonplace drama, which 
is daily enacted in each of the London police courts. 

The court is small, and has not the slightest pretensions 
to architectural beauty. It is as plain and inconvenient as 
a third-class railway carriage. The magistrate, a benevo- 
lent-looking, elderly gentleman, was perched upon a raised 
platform, seated in an uncomfortable-looking easy chair, and 
before him was a small table, having on it one or two dirty- 
looking law books. Just below him, and before another 
small table, covered with papers, sat a sharp-looking in- 
dividual, the clerk of the court. There were two attorneys 
seated at a third table. One of them was dressed in the 
height of " gentism ;" the other had evidently been running 
to seed for the last three or four years, and from the hue of 
his shirt, and the absence of collar, we inferred that he had 
a difficulty with his laundress, who had most inconsider- 
ately and inconveniently laid a distringas on his limited 
stock of long cloth and linen. Between these professionals 



IN A LONDON POLICE COURT. 63 

sat the public press, represented by a bald-headed, blue- 
nosed, shabby personage, who had " flimsied " the proceed- 
ings of the court for at least a quarter of a century. Next 
to the witness-box stood the usher, whose business it was to 
call silence every twenty-two-and-a-half seconds, and to 
administer the usual oath in an unusually flippant manner. 
A few policemen, shrouded in the inimitable ugliness of 
their uniform, intensified the dismal appearance of things in 
general. The British public was represented by from thirty 
to forty persons of both sexes. The most conscientious 
dealer in old garments would not have given £5 for all 
the clothes they had on. A few came out of curiosity ; old 
men with unshaven chins, who were continually snuffling, 
or blowing their ancient noses on large silk-patterned cotton 
pocket handkerchiefs. "We were informed that these ancients 
came day after day, and year after year, but where they 
came from, or where they went to, no one knew, or cared to 
know. Most of the visitors were present to look after their 
friends who were in durance vile, and to learn their fate. 
As we are describing an English court of justice, it is super- 
fluous to add that the place was badly ventilated, and the 
subordinate officers ill-mannered. 

The night charges were being proceeded with when we 
entered. Out of these, at least ninety per cent, were charges 
of drunkenness, or of offences directly resulting from 
drunkenness. Although we regard drunkenness as a great 
social evil, we were pleased that the magistrate treated these 
cases with considerable leniency. With such miserable 
homes as poor townspeople have, no wonder that they flock 
to the gaily-lighted, and, to them, palatial public-houses* 
We were speculating on what became of those who could 
not pay the small fines, when a gentleman who occupied a 
seat next to us, and appeared to know everything and every- 
body, informed us that if they could not pay, they were 
dismissed in the afternoon, on the arrival of the van. We 
were glad to think that so many escaped a ride in those 
horrid looking police vans — gloomy, funeral hearses, in 



64 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

which the morally dead are carried to prison ; and in 
which sometimes, unhappily, judgment erring, the morally 
living are unhearsed with the morally dead. 

A young girl was brought before the magistrate. Her 
accuser was a policeman ; her crime, singing and shouting 
in a respectable street after twelve o'clock at night. She 
was not known to the officers of the court. She said it was 
the first time she had ever been in custody. These were the 
only words she spoke, and we believe them. She was about 
eighteen. Her finely formed face would have been called 
classic and angelic if she had been rich. But she was only 
a poor work girl. No wonder — though a thousand pities— 
that she sought pleasure in the only way she could find it. 
Plying her needle from morning to night, when night came 
she needed excitement more than rest. So with some com- 
panions she sang and made a noise in a respectable street. 

The magistrate addressed her kindly. While he was 
speaking, the girl turned round and looked at us. A fearful 
daring glance — a glance that said, " Here, look into my 
heart, I do not care how bad you think me. I have been in 
prison. I care not for any one's opinion — I care not how 
bad I become." 

She was dismissed, and as she left the court with her 
friends she coloured and smiled — almost laughed. Poor 
creature ! her night's recreation will be to her the beginning 
of greater sorrows than she has dreamed of. Let not the 
gaol bird any more pretend to virtue, especially amongst her 
companions and neighbours. That one night's incarceration 
will rid her of the last vestige of self-respect, and the 
Tempter will find her an easy prey. 

Of course such creatures must not make a noise in 
respectable streets at midnight. It is intolerable that 
young ladies just returned from the opera, and retired to 
their downy beds, should be disturbed by the noise of a 
person who was only created to make ball-dresses and 
opera cloaks. Be it so. Let it be granted that the police- 
man must drag them to the station-house. Is that not 



IN A LONDON POLICE COURT. 65 

sufficient punishment ? Could not the case be disposed of 
privately ? By all means let there be no noise in respect- 
able streets at midnight, unless it proceed from respectable 
houses ; but, if possible, let us devise some means of keeping 
silence without bringing poor girls to shame. 

Whilst the magistrate was disposing of the case of a man 
who had endeavoured to cheat one of those social innocents — 
those extremely benevolent creatures, called pawnbrokers 
— there was a hubbub and screaming outside the court, and, 
as soon as the naughty man who had tried to cheat the 
good, confiding " three balls," had been remanded for a 
week, two females were rudely pushed into the dock. They 
were mother and daughter ; the latter a child about ten 
years of age, the former had seen, perhaps, forty summers. 
They were both thin and famished-looking. They were 
both clad in rags. They were both panting ; they seemed 
to us like creatures who were being hunted to their death. 
They glanced at the witness-box, at their pursuer, and 
accuser. There he stood, in some respects the most repulsive 
looking mortal we ever set eyes upon — fat, sleek, and well 
dressed. We could not help making a mental calculation 
as to the quantity of tallow that might have been obtained 
by boiling him down. His dark hair showed the extreme 
oiliness of his nature. A soft, puffy, doughy hand — a hand 
that could not know what it was to give an honest, friendly 
grasp. His face pleased us best, for it was a deep red — red 
even to the tips of the ears and to the fat throat. This red- 
ness pleased us, for it seemed like an unwilling flush of 
shame — like a signal set up by nature to warn us of danger, 
and bid us beware of the man. His eyes — well, we cannot 
say much about them. They were always cast down, as if 
seeking for some brother reptile. When he was sworn, he 
kissed the book with a smack. We were sorry the worthy 
magistrate did not ask him if he knew the nature of an 
oath. 

Then he commenced his accusation with his eyes still 
seeking for a brother reptile. He said he was an officer of 

p 



66 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

some society, and also a constable. His business appeared 
to consist in preventing anything like an appearance of 
poverty in respectable streets — his business was to hunt 
beggars to their holes, and, if possible, keep them there till 
they were starved. With regard to the mother and daugh- 
ter present, he had suspected them from their appearance, 
had stealthily watched them, and at last had seen them 
coming up or going down some area steps with a basket in 
their hands. He took them into custody, they resisted, and 
the daughter kicked his legs. 

Capital ! Did she hurt them much ? Why were they 
not exhibited in open court ? 

Then, hysterical and crying, the woman gave the lie to 
all this sleek, reptile-hunting witness had said. She had 
not been down the area ; she was not dishonest. Her basket 
only contained (and she produced it) a few combs that she 
had for sale. Her husband used to be a good man, but 
now he was a drunkard and a wife-beater, and she bared her 
arms — that is, she put aside her ragged shawl, and showed 
them covered with bruises. She knew no other way of 
getting a living for herself and child. That man (she 
pointed to the sleek, reptile-hunting witness) had a spite 
against her — he followed her everywhere. 

Much more in the torrent of her sorrow, her vehement 
hysterical passion, and, as we believe, of her innocency, did 
she pour forth. The scalding tears fell from the mother's 
eyes. The daughter looked too terrified even to weep. Her 
eyes were fixed upon her sleek, reptile-hunting accuser, 
fascinated, as it were by her terror, as though she gazed 
upon a serpent. 

The officers of the court knew nothing against her, and, 
good fellows, they responded to the appeal of the magis- 
trate as though they were disgusted with the sleek accuser. 
In her basket there was nothing but a few combs and kettle- 
holders, and in her pockets twopence halfpenny, a crust of 
bread, and some bits of meat she had picked up on a step. 
It was clear that she had not been robbing. Then, why in 



IN A LONDON POLICE COUBT. 



67 



the name of justice, was she not dismissed ? A well-dressed 
person would not be detained in custody for an instant on a 
mere suspicion, and why should there be a distinction 
between rags and a good coat ? It seems, however, that it 
is a criminal offence for a poor person to come near a rich 
man's habitation. Your modern Lazarus is sent to prison if 
he sits at the gate of your modern Dives. The sleek, 
reptile-seeking accuser swore he saw her go down an area 
and come up again. She declared it was false. Despite 
his good coat and her rags, we believe her. 

The woman was remanded to make inquiries. And the 
sleek accuser wriggled out of court. 

The night charges were ended. The first remanded case 
was that of a young man charged with forgery. But w T e 
had seen enough for one day, and we left. "What became 
of the dismissed girl ; what was the fate of the remanded 
vendor of combs and kettle-holders and her daughter, we 
know not. . We heartily wish that our property might be 
entrusted to the guardianship of the police only, and that 
Society officers in plain clothes were not permitted to hunt 
the poor like bloodhounds. 



68 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 



LITE I IT BAEEACKS 



It may be that the world will grow wise before it grows 
good, and that even whilst men still learn the art of war,, 
and long before the lion lies down with the lamb, there will 
be an end to standing armies. Of course, seeing that unre- 
generate human nature is what it is, an armed police is 
necessary in most countries. But what we mean by standing- 
armies are those enormous establishments that are kept up> 
in times of peace against times of war. These prevent us 
paying off our war debts when we are at peace. Putting- 
aside China and all other barbarous, and savage, and semi- 
savage countries, the world owes for war debts not less than 
three thousand millions of pounds sterling. Whenever we 
see pauperism, or vice, the accursed fruit of pauperism, we- 
always think how the devil must chuckle over the invention. 
of standing armies. We do not assume that the doing 
away with standing armies would make wars to cease, though 
it would make them less frequent. But this is the point. 
A soldier of three months' standing is, after a month in the 
field, just as good a veteran as the soldier of ten years'" 
standing. In these days, when electric telegraphy, by 
keeping us well informed about our neighbours, makes a 
surprise impossible, there is no reason why there should be 
a standing army, except for the purpose of internal police. 

Halt ! Here we are, like the Bev. Pat O'Connor, of 
Cork, spluttering out the morality in the wrong place. The 
Bev. Pat always prepared a grand bit of morality for the 
end of his sermons, but he was so anxious to give it forth, 
that he read his sermons backwards — that is, he began 



LIFE IN BARRACKS. 69 

"with the morality and finished with the text. It was our 
intention to wind up with a hint about standing armies, but 
it would come out first. There is this consolation for the 
reader, that he is to be bothered with no more of the moral- 
ities. 

Did you ever go to barracks ? Did you ever pass an hour 
in a canteen ? We have done so, and we propose to give an 
outline of the manner in which our standing army kills time 
when it is lying idle, which, having read, you will forgive 
our preliminary m oralis ations. 

We selected for our purpose a small barracks near to 
London, at which is stationed a detachment of a cavalry 
regiment. We made this selection because we knew a chum 
of the sergeant-major, the non-commissioned officer who 
has charge of the discipline, morals, and horses of the said 
detachment. 

At the barracks we were introduced to the sergeant-major 
— commonly called "the major." A finer specimen of the 
genus British soldier it would be hard to find. About 
5ft. 10 Jin. in height, robust limbs, a bronze complexion, 
and, with his accoutrements, riding twenty-two stone — not 
bearded like the pard, and only moderately supplied with 
familiar oaths. The major was in the Indian mutiny and 
the Crimea, and has plenty of decorations. It was non- 
commissioned officers like the major who won the battle of 
Inkernian, and who are on all occasions the back-bone of 
the army. It is men like the major who utilise the pluck 
and dash of epauletted striplings from Eton and from 
Harrow. 

Haying liquored, we visited the stables. Cleaner and better 
appointed stables are neither desirable nor possible. The 
horses were perfectly groomed and in beautiful condition ; their 
coats were as shiny as the metal on the harness which was 
hanging up before each stall. Some of the animals were finer 
than others, but all were excellent. The average cost is 
£25, and the like horses would cost a private gentleman at 
least £100. To be sure, cavalry horses have the best chance 



70 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

of doing well and looking well. Plenty to eat, any quantity 
of grooming, and very little work, agree admirably with the 
equine species. It will be a happy day for England when 
her peasantry and the poor in her towns are as comfortably 
lodged and as well fed as the British cavalry horses. A 
ragged, starving urchin, seeing a lady's lapclog gently car- 
ried in the arms of a flunkey, exclaimed, " My eyes, don't 
I wish father were a dog, and I were a pup like that 
there ! " If the peasantry— say of Dorsetshire — could 
have a glimpse of the stables of the British cavalry horses, 
how they would envy the sleek quadrupeds ! God knows, 
that so far as mundane happiness is concerned, they have 
cause for such envy. This is not moralising; it is a huge 
fact that we cannot pass by without a word of comment, 
]Sk> one who has visited the hovel homes of England and- 
then stood in a barrack stable can avoid the reflection that 
it is happier, so far as the flesh is concerned, to be a British 
cavalry horse than a British peasant. 

Having spent a short time with the horses, we ascended 
to the part of the building occupied by the men. On the 
way we met the commanding officer, a young captain — a 
Bond-street dandy, with fluff upon his youthful lip, but 
who would play the hero in the fray. He was smoking a 
cigar, and his countenance betrayed an inward conviction 
that he was, by the decree of Providence, monarch of more 
than any mortal eye, aided by the most powerful telescope, 
could survey. It was our privilege to hear him address a 
few words to the major, and if there had been any previous 
doubt in our mind as to the blueness of his blood, it would 
have been removed by the " y " twang that distinguishes 
the pronunciation of the young British swell. We find no 
fault with the gallant captain. It does not require a de- 
velopment of brain to render a man first-rate food for 
powder. 

The quarters of the soldiers are as clean as whitewash 
can make them. Eight men sleep in one room. The iron 
bedsteads were turned up, and the bedding was neatly 



LIFE IN BABRACKS. 71 

folded, strapped, and laid upon them. In one corner of the 
room were the carbines and the swords. At a table in the 
middle of the room were four soldiers in undress — that is, 
in their shirt sleeves — at dinner. Each man had a portion 
of beef and potatoes in a white basin, and so far as we 
could perceive, there was no reason to grumble at the 
rations. One of the diners remarked to a comrade that the 
beef was " awfully ruore-ish," which the major told us was 
the common complaint, but added, " If they was to get a 
joint a-piece, they would call out for more." 

For the inspection of the men's quarters the major had 
put us under the charge of a corporal, and this person gave 
us a little insight into barrack existence. The men are 
partially employed till, say, half-past twelve o'clock. 
They have to saddle their horses, and to go out for exercise 
at nine. At half-past eleven they have to parade, on 
parade days. They return to barracks, and brush up their 
accoutrements and pipeclay their gloves, their trouser- 
stripes, and the white patches in their uniform. This pipe- 
claying is a tedious process in the winter, as it requires 
heat, and the supply of coals is strictly limited. After 
1 p.m. — at the latest — the work of the day is over in 
barracks, The soldiers go to canteen, or to visit friends, 
and, if they require it, can always obtain a pass till twelve 
o'clock at night. As these passes are given without any 
inquiry, we cannot understand why the leave is not fixed at 
midnight, which Avould save the commanding officer the 
trouble of signing a lot of papers. It may be, however, 
that the object is to give the commanding officers something 
to do. How soldiers on leave employ their time is well 
known : either they are at the public-house or else paying 
temporary addresses to the housemaids and cooks. The 
corporal informed us that the private gets 8d. a day clear. 
Now there cannot be much dissipation upon 8d. a day, but 
soldiers have other sources of income. Their friends frequently 
send them money, all of which is needed for pleasure only. 
The corporal, who js an intelligent man, said that, taking 



72 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 






the rich with the poor, the private did not spend less than 
10s. a week. We expect from the flourishing circumstances 
of the canteen keeper, who, by-the-way, does not get all 
the soldier's custom, that the corporal's average is below 
rather than above the actual amount. 

From the barracks, once more under the escort of the 
major, we went to the canteen. There is nothing attractive 
either in the exterior or interior of the place. The poorest 
beer-shop in a fourth-rate provincial town is superior to it 
as to architecture and accommodation. It is a long, low, 
dismal-looking building. Turning off sharp to the right is 
the bar, and behind that is what is called by courtesy a 
parlour. The canteen is the major's head-quarters ; at 
least, he considers it his duty to visit it not less than six 
times a day, and to be the last to leave at night. Kound 
the bar fire, in a little recess, are some seats for the accom- 
modation of the landlord, landlady, the major, and the 
major's friends. We were politely called within the 
bar, and accommodated with pipes, tobacco, spittoons, and 
beer. Spirits are not allowed to be sold in the canteen, 
and consequently the men are obliged to go to the public- 
houses if they want grog. This seems to us a senseless 
regulation. If the soldiers want spirits they get them out- 
side the barracks. Why then should they not have them 
in the canteen, where they would be purer and cheaper ? 
The canteen prices are regulated by authority, and the 
goods sold are of excellent quality. Any well-founded 
complaints would put the canteen-keeper's profitable mono- 
poly in jeopardy. 

Round the bar-room was ranged a number of cans and 
pots, enough for the accommodation, one would suppose, of 
a regiment. On a small counter was bacon, cheese, save- 
loys, tea, coffee, tobacco, and needles and thread. On a 
shelf beneath the counter we noticed bread and soap, butter 
and blacking, in uninviting confusion. The canteen-keeper 
is bound to supply all the requirements of the soldier, even 
to the means of sewing on his buttons and stitching up the 



LIFE IN BABBACKS. 73 

rents in his clothes. The landlady is as much unlike the 
ordinary landlady as one can well conceive. She is a thin, 
spare body, with a sharp eye for business ; and in her line 
a sharp eye and an equable temper are indispensable. She 
treated the sergeant-major with deference, and laughed at 
his jokes ; but the privates were dealt with in an off-hand 
"business manner. The dame was rather out of humour with 
the authorities. The barracks had just lost a detachment 
in consequence, it was said, of some irregularities. She 
declared it was all stuff, and that a steadier set of men never 
trod in shoe-leather. " Indeed," she remarked, " they are 
too steady for business ; for one can't get one's salt out of 
their custom." 

We bow to her experience, or otherwise we should not 
have supposed that the men were too steady. The demands 
for beer and tobacco were incessant, and a horrible hubbub 
of loud talking, mingled with profane swearing, came 
through the partition which separated the tap-room from 
the parlour. Perhaps there was more noise than usual, for 
the landlord remarked that " the boys were going the whole 
hog." The major invited us to a game of cards. He 
thought cribbage the best game on the cards, but he was 
not particular. He could play "put," or all-fours, or whist. 
We declined cards, preferring to listen to his Crimean and 
Indian experiences. Having done so, and drunk much beer 
to the detriment of our stomach, and smoked with vigour 
for upwards of an hour, we took our departure from the 
canteen. 

Eather a bald sketch this ! That is not our fault. We 
set down only what we see and hear, and life in barracks is 
a bald blank life. It is a sort of stunted, festering vegeta- 
tion. What there is in it may be noted down on a single 
leaf of a small pocket-book. The soldier in barracks is 
not employed for more than four hours per day. What he 
does out of barracks does not now concern us. All he does 
in barracks is to look after his accoutrements, to eat, to sleep, 
to drink, to swear, to smoke, to tell nasty stories, and to 



74 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

sing nasty songs. We are riot censuring the soldier. Crowd 
a lot of men together and let them be idle nearly all day, 
and moral deterioration is inevitable. Considering the life 
of soldiers in barracks, we marvel that they are as they are,, 
and we ought to be thankful that they are not infinitely 
worse than they are. 



A beggars' supper and a thieves' hop. 75* 



A BEGGAKS' SUPPEE, AND A THIEVES' HOP. 






Within a mile of the Bank of England stands the cele- 
brated Aldgate Pump, and fifty yards beyond that is Aid- 
gate Church. This spot may be fitly described as the con- 
fluence of the many and diverse streams of London life. 
At this point four roads meet. That to the west, which at 
Aldgate Pump is subdivided, leads through the main arteries 
of the City — every yard of ground worth a prince's ransom 
—to the political and fashionable West-end. The road to 
the north takes us through the Hebrew quarter to Bishops- 
gate Street, and from thence we can proceed to any of those 
northern suburbs that are inhabited by what stump-orators 
call the great middle class. The southernly road is to the 
Thames via the London and St. Catherine's Bocks. The 
road due east is called Whitechapel, and it is no affectation 
to say that the inhabitants of Whitechapel differ from the 
rest of the London community as much as though three 
thousand miles of ocean instead of thirty yards of paving- 
stones separated them from the rich City, the aristocratic 
West-end, the respectable suburbanites of the north, and 
the thriving and amphibious creatures who prowl about the- 
docks and wharves. At nine o'clock in the evening of a 
sultry summer's day we found ourselves in this peculiar 
locality for the purpose of keeping an appointment. We 
were a little too soon, and our acquaintance was a little 
behind time ; consequently we had an opportunity of look- 
ing at the place and people. The passers-by were a dirty 
crowd, with a small sprinkling of rather clean persons. 
Never before have we seen such a number of ragged chil- 
dren and squalid women. The. children were of small 



76 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

stature, and their faces were wan and so old that the little 
ones might have passed muster for adult dwarfs. Many of 
"the women were without bonnets, and it was plain enough 
that they did their part towards supporting the numerous 
gin-palaces that abound in Whitechapel. We noticed as a 
peculiarity, that though it was a summer's night — the ther- 
mometer about 75 — a majority of the men wore great coats. 
A few negroes, probably marine cooks, and several German 
sugar-bakers were loafing about. Of course there were 
respectably-clad people, and these were proceeding east- 
ward to their homes at Mile-end and Bow. Several " traps," 
that is, vehicles above a tradesman's cart and below a gen- 
tleman's carriage, were also passing eastward, taking their 
owners to Epping and other dismal villages on the borders 
of the dreariest and dampest forest in England. The spot 
selected for our meeting was the Aldgate end of Butcher's 
Bow. A veritable row of butchers' shambles. Business 
was over for the night; but there were the red-stained 
blocks, and the strong smell of uncooked meat. We were 
beginning to find fault with our folly in supposing that our 
acquaintance would keep his promise, when up he came 
with an apology for being late. We assured the Bev. 
Joseph Wilkinson, D.D., that we fully excused his want of 
punctuality. 

The Bev. Joseph Wilkinson was a striking specimen of 
faded clerical gentility. He had on a paletot, and one mar- 
velled how a garment could be so threadbare and yet free 
from holes. His hat — half-covered with a cloth hatband — 
was napless, but scrupulously brushed. His white choker 
was tolerably clean, but tumbled, like the white chokers of 
waiters and undertakers. His clerical waistcoat, buttoning 
up to the chin, was a shiny black. His trousers were also 
shiny, particularly about the knees, and rather ragged about 
the heels. Now, whether Mr. Wilkinson was ever ordained 
we know not. Our impression is that he had not been 
ordained, and that he had no title to write D.D. after his 
name. Three weeks before the meeting now referred to 



A BEGGARS' SUPPER AND A THIEVES' HOP. 77 

Mr. Wilkinson had introduced himself to us, presenting a 
letter from a highly-esteemed friend, and also showing us 
letters from Church dignitaries. The object of the visit 
was to ask for a small subscription towards building a 
church in a fishing village on the coast of Cornwall. Mr. 
Wilkinson gave us a pathetic description of the spiritual 
destitution of the village. There was no church and no 
minister. His own means were utterly exhausted, and un- 
less he obtained help he must give up — his eyes were suf- 
fused with tears when he said this — he must give up the 
work of evangelisation. The poor people got their liveli- 
hood by catching pilchards, and he trusted that the com- 
munity which they helped to feed would not allow their 
immortal souls to perish. We were not to be done. We 
thought from the first that the Eev. Joseph Wilkinson, D.D., 
was a swindler, and we were right. In less than eight-and- 
forty hours, by the aid of a clever detective, we hunted our 
man down, and found him to be one of the most notorious 
begging-letter impostors in the metropolis. We had another 
interview with Mr. Wilkinson, and he begged hard that we 
would not prosecute, which, as we had not been victimised, 
we had no intention of doing. So far from that, we gave 
Mr. Wilkinson a cigar and a glass of grog, and he was so 
obliging as to give us a little insight into the art and 
mystery of professional begging. 

" There, my dear sir," said Mr. Wilkinson, examining 
the spoon with which he was stirring his grog, to see if it 
was Hall-marked, " a man may beg on the square and he is 
safe from the law, but if he is a little ingenious, if he exer- 
cises intellect, he is liable to punishment. I am in jeopardy,, 
not that I do more harm than a common street beggar, but 
because I have the instincts of a gentleman, and I cannot 
adopt a vulgar calling." 

The philosophical vagabond, after another glass of grog, 
invited us to accompany him one evening to sup with some 
beggars who had formed a club, and met together once or 
twice a week. Mr. Wilkinson offered to call for us, but for 



78 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

two reasons we declined giving him that trouble. We did 
not like to incur the risk of diminishing our limited stock 
of plate, and we rather shrank from walking through the 
streets with a notorious impostor. Hence we fixed upon 
Whitechapel, in which neighbourhood the supper party 
assembled, as the rendezvous. 

Mr. Wilkinson informed us that, warned by the risk he 
had encountered, he was now living on the " square." He 
had given up the begging-letter business and had gone into 
the coal trade. He was selling coals on commission, and 
was doing very well. Mr. Wilkinson might have spared 
his breath. We knew him, and we are not so soft as prison 
chaplains. We have given our servants strict orders to 
shut the door in the face of any person dressed as a clergy- 
man who comes to solicit an order for coals. Mr. Wilkinson 
confessed he was rather hard-up. We were sorry for him. 
Could we put him in the way of doing a bit of " stiff" — 
that is an accommodation bill for £20 ? We could not 
assist him. Would we cash his I.O.U. for £5. We de- 
clined the precious autograph, but we lent him £2 without 
acknowledgment. Mr. Wilkinson assured us that his word 
was as good as his bond. No doubt about it ; but what is 
Iris bond worth ? 

As the two sovereigns were dropped into Mr. Wilkinson's 
waistcoat pocket, we turned into the " Jolly Dogs," rather 
a shabby-looking public-house, at the corner of a blind 
court. A corpulent landlady was behind the bar, who 
seemed exhilarated at the advent of Mr. Wilkinson. " Why, 
parson ! " she exclaimed, " we had almost guv' you up. 
The tripes is on the table." The parson blessed her in a 
most uncanonical manner, and ordered a glass of gin and 
bitters. The nacid eye of the corpulent landlady was fixed 
upon us. " What did we want ? " The parson told her to 
mind her own business, and again bestowed upon her an 
uncanonical blessing. We went upstairs to the supper- 
room, and found the brethren already at work with their 
knives and forks. We were accommodated with a seat next 



A beggars' supper and a thieves' hop. 79 

to the chairman — a young man " out of. business," of rather 
flashy appearance. We were afterwards informed that this 
gentleman, Charley Fluker, was well known to the police 
as a person who associated with men who did not thoroughly 
comprehend the difference between meum and teum. It was 
a tripe supper, and on the table was tripe dressed in various 
ways. There was tripe 'fried in onions and tripe fried in 
batter. There was tripe boiled in milk, and plain boiled 
tripe. There was stewed tripe, and tripe ". toad-in-the-hole." 
The dish most in request was tripe boiled in milk. The 
consumption was wonderful. The " distressed tradesman," 
who said he could eat " a waistcoat of it," gobbled up, we 
should say, a yard of tripe, and probably on the average 
each guest ate about two pounds of tripe, seasoned with 
about half-an-ounce of mustard. We have frequently noticed 
the skill with which a cat laps up milk, but still more re- 
markable was the knack with which the beggars lapped up 
the gravy with their knives. It seemed to be a point of 
etiquette that under no circumstances should the fork be put 
to the mouth. Whilst the supper was proceeding there was 
no conversation ; but it could hardly be said that any time 
was lost. In about fifteen minutes the guests had filled 
their capacious stomachs to repletion. Waistcoats were 
unbuttoned, the debris of the feast were cleared away, and 
the chairman got upon his legs. 

" Now, my blokes," said he, " the gent to my right, 
who is our visitor, wishes you to take a glass with him. 
Order what you like, let it be hot and strong as blazes, and 
he will pay the shot." 

The ten guests received this brief speech with applause, 
and the waiter was favoured with orders for gin and water 
and rum and water. Before executing them, the waiter, who 
was evidently of a suspicious temperament, came to us for 
the money. The "distressed tradesman" suggested that 
we should wet both eyes, and order two glasses of groo- at 
once, to save trouble. To this we had no objection, and 
forthwith paid for twenty-two grogs, at sixpence per glass. 



80 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

The first toast was, " Our noble selves ; " the next was, 
" Our guest and all liberal souls." In proposing our health 
the " distressed tradesman " said : — " Christian friends and 
beloved brethren, I wish I could do justice to this toast. 
But like a dear relative of mine who died at the expense of 
the Government, though I am a ' willain ' man, unfortunately 
like Cain I aint able. Our guest is a liberal soul and no 
flies. He has wetted both our eyes, and when that lot is 
sponged up, I'll bet a Dutch herring to a Peeler, and that, I 
take it, is about a hundred to one — (cheers) — that the liberal 
soul will order a third glass to wet our blowpipes. My 
Christian friends and brethren, we ought to honour the swell 
who raises spirits from the vasty deep— my spirits are often 
under my soles — by pouring spirits down. All the harm we 
wish him is, that he may be as happy and live as jolly as a 
beggar." After this toast the beggars indulged in harmony. 
About the songs, it will be sufficient to remark that the 
vocalisation was not unworthy of the words. "Whilst the 
singing was going on, the chairman and the parson pointed 
out to us some of the leading beggars. There was the 
"distressed tradesman," a model of seedy respectability. 
His business was carried on in the suburbs. Accom- 
panied by two respectably-dressed children, whom he hired 
at a shilling a day and their food, he walked about the 
streets bawling out, " Christian friends ! A poor and unfor- 
tunate tradesman is forced to ask your charity to keep him 
and his dear children from starvation. After a long strug- 
gle with difficulties I was sold up by an unfeeling creditor, 
and with my family turned penniless upon the world. I 
hope, now, by your aid, my Christian friends, to be able to 
emigrate and begin a new life in Australia. Oh, my friends, 
I pray give me the smallest relief, and Heaven will bless 
your store." The parson observed that t^e "distressed 
tradesman " was a profitable but rather a hard line. The 
perpetual bawling in the streets was fatiguing. We re- 
marked that the "distressed tradesman " looked very pale. 
The chairman rejoined that he would look more lively if he 



a beggars' supper and a thieves' hop 81 

washed his face, and upon a closer inspection we found that 
he was made up for his role with paint. 

The vendor of lucifer matches was rather an old man, in 
ragged garments. His little emag — emag is the flash word 
for game — was to beseech ladies to help him to get an 
honest livelihood by buying a box of matches. He sold 
very few lucifers, but he collected plenty of pence. Seated 
next to this person was a stalwart man dressed as a sailor, 
who devoted his energies to collecting money to take him 
down to Liverpool to join his ship. In marked contrast to 
the sailor was the old soldier, dressed in a faded and non- 
descript uniform. This individual went the round of the 
public-houses, and obtained money from those who believed 
his story th St he had been unfairly treated by the authori- 
ties. There was present a very lugubrious looking beggar 
who sold tracts. His plan was to step up to likely-looking 
ladies, and ask them to direct him to the house of some 
clergyman or minister, and then to persuade them to buy a 
tract, which might be useful to the souls of their servants. 
There was also present a beggar with a stentorian voice, 
who sold and sang songs in the street. He frequented so- 
called quiet neighbourhoods, and generally planted himself 
before a house where some of the blinds were drawn down 
in token of sickness, and his ingenuity was often rewarded 
by small donations to go into another street. 

"We asked Charley Fluker whether professional begging 
paid. " Certainly," said that gentleman, " it is one of the 
best businesses out. No matter what line a man is in, he 
can easily do a hundred streets a-day ; and he must be a 
muff if he cannot get a penny out of each street. These 
fellows, on the average, get twelve shillings a-day, and the 
best of them earn their pound." 

"We commend this fact to the benevolent public, who, in 
spite of the admonitions of the anti-Mendicity Society, per- 
sist in giving their alms to street beggars. 

The two glasses of grog being exhausted, the " distressed 
tradesman " proposed another glass all round in honour of 

G 



82 



COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 



the guest, and he was good enough to remark " that we were 
a first-rate cove, and ought to be in their line." Mollified 
by this compliment, we could not resist the appeal to our 
purse for more grog. 

Charley Fluker observed that it was rather slow work, 
and asked us if we would like to go to a hop in the neigh- 
bourhood, to which we assented. Before leaving the supper- 
room we had to shake hands with the brethren ; but, fore- 
seeing this, we had prudently encased our hand in a glove. 
Sooth to say, we were by no means fascinated with the 
brethren, and of the two we would rather shake hands with 
a burglar than with a professional beggar. 

Under the escort of Charley, the parson declining to join 
us in the excursion, we went to an assembly f oom not far 
from where stands the Garrick Theatre. It was a low 
uncleanly room, and the atmosphere was almost stifling. 
It was, we believe, duly licensed for music and dancing. 
The music consisted of a fiddle and wind instruments, and 
the dancing was a species of rough indecent romping. 
Charley told us to take care of our watch, as the place was 
a resort of thieves. The women were of the worst and 
vilest class. It was a scene of vice in all its naked defor- 
mity. There were several seamen who were doomed to be 
drugged and plundered by their partners. The keeper of 
this saloon, with a keen eye to profit, set one or two women 
to ask us to stand some wine. Charley told him and them 
to go to a certain warm place ; but surely, if a life of vice is 
a passport to that warm place, the admonition was needless. 
"You must stand some sherry," said Charley, "but don't 
drink it." Accordingly we ordered two bottles of sherry, 
at the moderate price of 8s. 6d. per bottle, The considerate 
Charley introduced us to a man whose flattened nose showed 
that he was practically acquainted with the noble art of 
self-defence, and we soon found the advantage of the intro- 
duction. There was a clamorous demand for more wine, 
with sundry threats and pushes, but our pugilistic acquaint- 
ance was a very efficient guard, and quickly restored order 



A BEGGAES' SUPPER AND A THIEVES' HOP. 83 

as far as we were concerned. We were about to leave when 
there was a cry of " a ring ! a ring !" and in the middle of 
the room were two women nearly stripped to their waists 
fighting. A more savage and inhuman spectacle cannot be 
conceived. Goaded on by the men, they were tearing each 
other's hair, striking each other on the breast, and with the 
cheap rings on their fingers were cutting each other's faces 
until they were covered with blood. In vain the keeper of 
the saloon called upon them to stop. They kept tearing at 
each other, now striking blows with their fists, and then, by 
way of variety, lacerating each other with their nails. 
We had recourse to our pugilistic acquaintance. We offered 
him a crown to stop the affair, and he accepted the offer. 
"Not heeding the shouts and imprecations of the men who 
were looking on, he broke through the ring and dragged 
out one of the women. Charley suggested that we had 
better cut, and we were not loth to turn our back upon the 
most coarse and revolting orgies that can be witnessed in 
any capital in the world. We scarcely know which is the 
more disgusting — the Beggars' Supper or the Thieves' Hop. 
Both were singularly dull and nasty entertainments. It is 
the fashion of those who write tales of crime for the corrup- 
tion of boys to invest their heroes with a certain air of 
romance. Our readers may gather from this sketch how 
thoroughly false are such descriptions of the lives of the 
criminal class. 



84 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 



POUND DEAD 



Mr. Trimmer was neither rogue nor fool. He was on the* 
right side of the very finely drawn line that separates honesty 
from dishonesty, and being a fussy well-to-do individual, he 
was quite the bull's-eye of his own particular circle. Mr. 
Trimmer was not educated. Although an enterprising person, 
and combining the business of a milk walk with the vend- 
ition of greens and other vegetable matter fit for the human 
stomach, science had not taught his soul to wander so far as 
that flood of celestial glory which astronomers call the 
"milky way." Still Mr. Trimmer was a shrewd and smart 
fellow. He was chairman of a benefit society, and was- 
even spoken of for the vestry. Yet Mr. Trimmer, though 
by no means addicted to humbling confessions frankly 
admitted that he was " floored." " There is more in this 
here than what meets the eye," said Mr. Trimmer, " and if" 
I knows a carrot from a mangle-vursal there has been foul 
play. Don't tell me. Paupers ain't the sort to go a turning 
themselves into a hicicle for nothing nohow. It ain't their- 
game. The ii/erdict is given, but I am dumfoundered if I 
knows, or any other chap, what the case means." 

The evidence was certainly very meagre. A woman, 
(quite a chit of a gal and a hangel to look at, deposed Mrs. 
Dry), who represented her husband to be a traveller, took a 
room in the house of Mrs. Dry, in the New Cut. She was 
dull, and often cried, but did not seem to want for money.. 
Her husband came to see her once, and a day or two after 
that she was confined. "A finer baby I never seed," 
deposed Mrs. Dry. A fortnight later there, came a letter 
which quite upset the poor creature. The same night 



FOUND DEAD. 



85 



" (leastways it was nigh morning," deposed Mrs. Dry) 
there was an awful screaming, and when Mrs. Dry went 
into the lodger's room she found the baby was dead. The 
doctor certified that the mother had overlaid the child. The 
young creature took on badly, and had milk fever. In her 
delirium she talked about home and father and mother, and 
all those kind of things. When she got better she would 
not speak to anyone, but went out every day and came home 
at night nearly tired to death. On one occasion Mrs. Dry 
followed her, and the young woman walked to the City and 
strolled about up one street and down another in a strange 
sort of manner. Another letter came for the young woman, 
and that day she did not go out till late, and again Mrs. 
Dry followed her. In the City the young woman met the 
man who had called upon her — her husband — and they got 
into a cab and drove off. Mrs. Dry heard nothing more of 
her lodger until the police called on her and told her she 
was wanted to give evidence about a young woman who was 
found dead in the Park. 

This was the sum total of the evidence, and therefore the 
mental fogginess of Mr. Trimmer is quite excusable. 
Suppose Ave try to clothe the skeleton with flesh, after the 
manner of the philosophers, who, from a few fossil remains 
give us pictures of the animals that lived upon the earth in 
pre- Adamite ages. We may not accurately solve the 
mystery that puzzles Mr. Trimmer, but we will write 
nothing that is not true to life. Alas ! that such things are 
so true and so commom ! 

It was a November afternoon. Through the slush and 
dirt which abounds in the transpontine half of the metropolis, 
a cab, with a plain deal box on the roof, and a man and 
woman inside, drove until it reached a by-street in the New 
Cut, when the .check-string admonished the driver to stop. 
Both the passengers were young. The man, rather good- 
looking and well dressed, was smoking a cigar, and was 
-evidently out of temper. The woman was young and pretty, 
and appeared very nervous. 



86 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

" Oh William," she said, " I wish you would go with 
me." 

"Don't be a fool Mimmie," replied William, testily, "I 
don't want to be mixed up in this deuced affair. Go and 
get the lodging by yourself. I will wait here for you." 

Mimmie got out of the cab, walked up the street, and 
knocked at Mrs. Dry's door. The door was open, and 
therefore the knocking produced, at least so thought Mimmie, 
a dreadful noise. Mrs. Dry, who was in the midst of her 
week's wash, came forward. Mimmie told her she wanted 
a room, and she was asked upstairs, and shown into the first 
floor front, a bedroom better furnished than might have 
been supposed from the outside of the premises. Mimmie 
said that her husband was a traveller, and he would not, at 
least for some time, be with her. Mrs. Dry coughed know- 
ingly, and remarked that it made no difference. Then as 
to terms. Usually the room let for six shillings a week, 
but under certain circumstances — Mrs. Dry glanced at 
Mimmie's figure — the rent was higher. No matter, what 
would the rent be ? 

" Say ten shillings a week," replied Mrs. Dry : " that is 
if you can afford it, my dear. But lor, don't tremble so." 

Mrs. Dry was a rough but a kind woman. She had her 
weaknesses. She was fond of a little gossip, she was prone 
to indulge in stimulants, and she was apt to let kind feelings 
interfere with business. She — to quote her own expression 
— took to Mimmie from the first, and would have taken her 
in at any price. Mrs. Dry told Mimmie it was nothing to go 
through after all. She was the mother of six, and ought to 
know. She would do the nursing, and there was not a 
cleverer doctor in the world than Mr. Simpkin, in the Cut, 
and he only charged ten shillings. So it was all arranged, 
and having paid a week in advance — Mrs. Dry did not ask 
for it — Mimmie left, promising to return shortly. 

William rated her for being such a confounded time, but 
he was mollified when he heard that the business had been 
settled, without giving him any further trouble. 



POUND DEAD. 87 

" William dear," said the girl, " it almost breaks my heart 
to leave you. Come and see me often, it will be so dull." 

" You won't see much of me just now, and so don't think 
it, Mimmie. And you won't see me at all if you go on blub- 
bering like that, for I hate crying women." 

Mimmie tried to smile. William paid the cabman, and 
told him where to drive to. 

" Good bye," said William, holding out his hand, " I 
must be off." 

" Don't leave me without a kiss," said Mimmie. 

" Don't make yourself a fool in the 'streets," rejoined 
William. However he put his head into the cab and kissed 
her, and Mimmie went to Mrs. Dry's. 

A sorrowful time of it had poor Mimmie. Nothing to do 
but to brood upon the past, and afraid to speculate upon the 
future. She could not, would not, think that he could mean 
to be unkind, yet he did not come to her or even write 
to her. He was no doubt too busy, and it was insolent of 
that woman, Mrs. Dry, to ask her if her husband was kind. 
The doctor saw her, and told her that she must walk every 
day, but she would not leave the room. What, go out, and 
perhaps William might call ! So she sat by the window, 
watching from morning until night. Sometimes she. would 
open the window, and look up and down the street, but she 
looked in vain. At length, however, William came, and 
greeted her with a chiding for writing to him. 

" I suppose that you want to get me into a mess ; but I 
won't stand it. You must just keep quiet until the affair is 
over." 

" You will come to me then, William dear. Oh, darling, 
you will come then and see me and our — our little one." 

" Yes, but don't bother," said William, " I am going from 
town for a week or two, and so just keep quiet." 

" Must you go now, William ? I am so frightened, dear. 
I think I shall die if you are far away." 

" Stuff about dying," said William, "you will be all right." 

Mimmie sat herself on his knee, and for a few minutes 



COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 



and 



"William spoke to her and kissed her as in days of yore 
the sad heart once again beat with joy. That night Mimraie 
slept — next morning she talked cheerfully to Mrs. Dry. 

A fortnight passes. Mimmie is in bed, and lying by her 
is the baby. "He said for two weeks," murmured Mimmie, 
"and perhaps he will be here to night " And she drew the 
baby to her and kissed it. " Your father will see you soon," 
she said, " and I know he will love you." Mrs. Dry 
brought her a letter. " Quick, bring a light, good nurse ; 
I know it is to tell me he is coming." 

Mrs. Dry stood by the bedside holding a candle. Trem- 
bling with eagerness Mimmie opened the letter. It was as 
follows : — 

Dear Mimmie,' — I have ascertained that you are well, and I am 
glad of it. I think it is better for both our sakes that I should tell you 
the truth. It is no use our meeting again. It will bring you and me 
to ruin. I will provide for the child, but I will not see it. This 
will not give you more pain to read than it does me to write; but if 
you really love me, you will see it is for the best. I enclose you a 
bank note to go on with, and in a week or two I will make final 
arrangements through a friend. If you don't make any fuss or bother 
it will be best for both of us. You can put the child out, and no 
one need know it is yours. I hope, dear Mimmie, you will marry a 
better husband than I could have made you, and become a respectable 
woman. I shall always think of you with affection, particularly if 
you fall in with my views. Good bye. 

William. 

She read it again and again. " Hold the light nearer," 
she said, " I can't see." She read it again. " Oh Gcfd, 
what shall I do ?" Mrs. Dry put down the candle and said, 
" Is it bad news, dear ; is he ill ?" Mimmie made a great 
and successful effort to conceal her poignant sorrow. " It is 
nothing, nursey ; it is nothing, nursey, and I will tell you of 
it to morrow." Then she lay down and pretended to sleep. 
Mrs. Dry said she would sit up with her, but Mimmie 
would not allow her. 

She slept for a short time, if mere dreamy unconsciousness 
is sleep. When she awoke she muttered, " It can't be so, 



FOUND DEAD. 89 

my eyes have deceived me, I will read it again." She got 
out of bed, but was too weak to stand. So she slid upon the 
floor, and slowly and painfully wriggled herself to the 
corner of the room where the dim night-light was burning. 
She read the letter again, and there was no longer room for 
doubt. Back she wriggled herself in the same way to the 
bedside, but had no power to raise herself. After a while, 
she got upon her knees, and so remained, repeating over and 
over again, " God have mercy upon me !" The child cried. 
This roused her to fresh exertions. She got upon the bed, 
she took the child in her arms, and she fell upon it fainting. 

Two hours at least, she remained in a state of uncon- 
sciousness. When she came to herself her first .thought was 
the child. She half raised herself on the pillows and looked 
at it. It was warm, but it was dead. It did not occur to 
her at first that it was dead, and she thought it was 
asleep. Yet it looked strange. She sat upright. She took 
the child in her arms, she kissed it, and she offered it the 
breast. Then the horrible suspicion flashed across her 
mind that something had happened to the child. She tried 
to open its eyes with her fingers. She shook it violently, 
and she uttered that scream which Mrs. Dry says she shall 
never forget if she lives to the age of Methuselah. 

Mrs. Dry sent for the doctor. He looked at the child, 
and as gently as he could, he told Mimmie it was dead. In 
liis opinion it had been smothered whilst sleeping. 

Another fortnight passes away. Mimmie has been 
delirious for nearly the whole of that period, but is now 
nearly well. Mr. Simpkin says she only requires a few 
days to recover her strength. While still excessively weak, 
Mimmie went out, and continued to do so daily. Mrs Dry, 
remarked that it was quite miraculous how Mimmie walked 
about after all she had gone through. She received another 
letter from William, asking her to meet him in the evening 
in the City. This was the occasion referred to in the 
evidence. They met, as we have intimated, and entered a 



90 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES 

cab. After driving out of the City, they left the cab, and 
began to walk. Hitherto not one word had Mimmie spoken. 
At last she found utterance, and told "William all that had 
happened. For a moment even he felt remorse. 

" William," she said, "I murdered the child." 

He started from her, and exclaimed, " Murdered it, 
Mimmie !" She told him again the story of that night, and 
it was in vain that he tried to persuade her she was not 
guilty of the death of the child. The idea was fixed in her 
mind that she had murdered it in the hour of her madness. 
William told her it was no use indulging in foolish fancies, 
and that, perhaps, after all it was better the child was dead. 

" Better k is dead !" said Mimmie, and she let go his 
arm, and stood looking at him as if she doubted whether 
she heard him aright. 

" Don't look like that," said William, " I hate it." 

" Better it is dead !" she exclaimed again. 

"Yes," said William passionately; " and better if you 
were dead too, if you are going on like this." 

" I shall trouble you no more," said Mimmie. 

" As you like about that," rejoined William ; " I told you 
we must part. The fact is I have been forced to marry !" 

" So you are married !" said Mimmie, in a calm tone that 
jarred on the listener. " So you are married ! that is well. 
I will trouble you no more. Good-bye, William, may you 
be happy !" 

" Come " said William, " give me a kiss before we part;" 
but she heeded him not, and turned away. 

She walked to the New Cut, and stood some time before 
Mrs, Dry's house, but would not enter it. She began walking 
quickly, not thinking where she was going. The words 
"Better it is dead" were still ringing in her ears as 
though William was by her side repeating them. She 
paused for awhile on Westminster-bridge, leant over the 
parapet, and looked on the darkly-flowing river. A police- 
man told her to move on, and she did so at once. She 



POUND DEAD. 



91 



glided through the streets till she came to Hyde Park, 
which she entered. She felt very weary, and longed for 
rest. For the first time she noticed the coldness of the night, 
and perceived that snow was falling. Still she walked on, 
and leaving the main path lay down under a leafless tree, 
and she slept. She slept as she had not done for weeks 
past. She slept as if she was in the old home from which 
William had taken her. She slept as if she had not loved 
and been forsaken. 

Next morning the park-keeper having breakfasted took a 
stroll by Rotten Eow. He was attracted by a heap of snow 
gathered under one of the trees. He went up to it and 
kicked it, and found it was a woman lying there. He went 
to the hospital for assistance, telling them that one of the 
tramps, he thought, was " froze to death." A stretcher 
was brought, and all that remained on earth of Mimmie was 
carried to the hospital. 

The coroner was notified of the event, and a jury was 
summoned to meet at the Eed Lion public-house. Thirteen 
unfortunate men, including Mr. Trimmer, the greengrocer,, 
assembled at the appointed time and rather irritated the 
beadle by insisting on partaking of some slight refreshment 
at the bar before entering the august presence of the coroner, 
who is popularly supposed to conduct the inquiry, but the 
de facto official is the beadle. The beadle summonses the 
jury, he gets up the evidence, and he tells witnesses what 
they are to say. The jury being sworn proceeded to 
view the body, which was a formal proceeding, inasmuch 
as the jurors took particular care to keep their eyes shut, 
and not to look at the corpse. The evidence that we have 
already mentioned was given, and the coroner charged the 
jury. Whilst he was doing so, Mr. Trimmer whispered to 
the foreman of the jury that if the cold wind continued he 
should be obliged to oil his hands, which were very much 
chapped and remarkably dirty. 

The jury returned an open verdict of " Found dead," and 
the Coroner issued a certificate for Christian burial. The 



32 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

workhouse undertaker supplied a shell, and Mimmie was 
buried at the expense of the parish. 

Found dead ! How often these open verdicts are returned ! 
How many people from year to year die in the streets of 
London, unfriended and uncared for ! What tales of utter 
woe and wretchedness are summed up in those two words 
Found Dead ! 



constable's hotel. 93 






CONSTABLE'S HOTEL. 



A dibty-looking letter and twopence to pay. Give it 
back to the postman. We are not to be done by the begging- 
letter imposters, who, as a proof of their utter destitution, 
omit to frank their appeals to the benevolent. If a friend 
has forgotten to affix the countenance of the Queen, it will 
serve him right to get his letter returned for his careless- 
ness. Still, never mind, we will pay the twopence this 
time, for it would be rather vexatious to send back a pleasant 
invitation. This is what we had for our two-pence : — 

Constable's Hotel, Tuesday Night. 
My dear Friend, — You will be surprised to hear that I am some- 
what in debt, and that a creditor has been heartless enough to arrest 
me. I am not sorry for it, for now I will take the bull by the horns 
and go through the Court. I will now get rid of that burden which for 
years past has been a drag upon my career, and a spellupon my 
intellect. Hereafter, of course, I mean to pay all my creditors, but 
the brute who has put me in prison shall be the last I will settle with. 
Give me a call at once, as I have something in hand more important 
than a hundred bankruptcies. 

Ever yours, 

In sunshine and shade, 

Dan. Beady. 
P.S. — Bring some tobacco and pipes. The brutes do not allow 
spirits. I presume that you know that Constable's Hotel is the polite 
name for Whitecross-street Prison. 

"We were not surprised to hear of Brady being in debt, as 
he had always been in that condition from his youth upwards 
We were, indeed, a little surprised that a creditor should 
think it worth while to sue a gentleman of such notorious 
impecuniosity. However, we were determined to lose no 
time in visiting our friend, who was, from the tone of his 



94 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

letter, evidently down upon his luck. No wonder, poor 
fellow ! Cut off from his beloved whiskey, what could be 
expected but gloominess ? 

We hail a cab, and request to be driven to Cripplegate. 
The cabman said "All right," in a patronizing tone which 
was slightly irritating. It indicated that he knew that 
we were going to the prison, confound the fellow ! We 
pulled the check string rather sharply, and told him to 
stop at a tobacconist's. Whilst we were investing in bird's- 
eye and half-a-dozen short pipes, Cabby walked in to light 
up. " They likes the weed," he remarked, " it's meat, drink 
and family to 'em." We asked how he knew. " Bless my 
eyes and yourn," he replied, "I've served my time in that 
shop, like other gents. I was one too many for the Governor, 
though, I was ; and I can just put you up to a move, sir. 
Spirits is against the rules, but I had 'em all the same. 
My old woman comes in twice a week with a big pie. In 
course they let that pass ; and in course, under the crust 
were a bottle of the real stuff. Best of the fun was this 'ere. 
I gets rayther tight, and in the morning was like a 'oss off 
his legs. Bound comes the doctor, and 'as a squint at me. 
' What have you been eating ?' says he. I told him the old 
woman brought me in pies which were uncommon fat, and I 
missed the qualifier. Blest if the doctor wornt a good sort 
of chap, for he orders me a leetle brandy." 

The tobacconist having enjoyed the joke, and offered 
Cabby a cheroot, the price of which he deducted out of our 
change, the journey was resumed. We pass down Je win- 
street, which is singularly suggestive of genteel penury ; 
we pass by Crlpplegate Church, which is the most nonde- 
script and unsightly edifice ever dedicated to Divine worship, 
and, turning sharp round to the left, we pull up at the 
prison door. Cabby tips us another patronizing wink as 
he drives off. What does he mean by that sort of thing ? 
Has he got some cloudy notion about surrendering to one's 
bankruptcy, and does he think that we have been so obliging 
as to arrest ourselves ? 



constable's hotel. 95 

Did you ever go to prison ? There is a nasty creeping 
sort of feeling comes over us even -when entering one as a 
visitor. We look through the wicket. A tall warder opens 
the door with a jangle of the keys, and as soon as we are on 
the wrong side, closes it with a bang that seems to say, 
" Caged my boy, during Her Majesty's pleasure." We told 
the warder we wanted to see Mr. Daniel Brady. 

" Have you got anything for him ?" 

We muttered something about tobacco and pipes. 

" Have you got any spirits ?" asked the warder, eyeing 
us suspiciously. 

Our " jSTo" did not satisfy him, for he passed his heavy 
hand over our coat, and then told us to go on. We passed 
through a passage, barred up on either side, and came to 
another gate. Another jangling of keys and another dis- 
cordant bang. We enter the main building, and at the end 
of a short dark passage we come upon the reception-room. 
Some more jangling of keys, and we are locked in the said 
reception room while the warder calls for our friend. 

Reception room ! Dreary, dirty, and dilapidated. A 
double row of narrow wooden tables, flanked by narrow 
wooden benches. No ventilation. On one side of the room 
a stove, but no fire in it. The room is demi-semi lighted by 
demi-semi-translacent windows, looking into the prisoners' 
court-yard, where some of the prisoners were playing at 
ball. What practical advantage the community derives, 
and especially creditors, from debtors having to play ball, 
and being kept in a state of enforced idleness, t we could not 
discover. Imprisonment for debt is clearly not intended as 
a punishment, and therefore is, we suppose, preserved as a 
curious relic of ancestral folly. 

Enter Brady, rather grimy, but otherwise none the worse 
for incarceration. 

"By G-ad, my dear friend, this affects me. I knew you would 
come. I was just telling my solicitor you would be here." 

After the usual "how-do-you-do " and "weather" dialogue, 
Brady told us that he hoped to be out in a few days, and 



96 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

that in an hour he was going to Basinghall-street to file 
his papers. 

" You see, my dear hoy, I am going to do the business in 
forma pauperis, which costs next to nothing. A fellow can 
only do that when he has no assets. Therefore if a chap 
wants to be let through easily he should not have a stick 
to call his own. Plenty of debts and no assets is the 
correct thing." 

Rather a sharp-looking man whose dress was showy and 
sloppy, and whose jewellery was conspicuous if not valuable, 
called Brady inside. After a minute's chat this person was 
introduced to us as " Mr. Recker, my solicitor." 

" My dear friend," said Brady " my solicitor wants some 
money before he can proceed." 

" Indeed !" 

" I am in no hurry," said Mr. Becker " but as I told you 
yesterday we cannot file to-day unless I get two guineas on 
account." 

" My dear friend," said Brady " could you oblige with the 
amount ? I will repay you next Monday." Ever since we 
have known Brady his pay-day has been " next Monday." 
"We handed over the money to Mr. Becker, who dropped it 
gracefully into his waistcoat pocket, and told Brady to be 
ready for a start in half an hour. 

We inquired of Brady how he got on in prison. 

" Oh, jolly enough. I have pleasant chums and the 
sleeping is pretty good. The miseries are having to go to 
bed early, to .get up ditto, to go to chapel, and no spirits 
allowed." 

" Spirits again ! Brady wrote to us about spirits. Our 
one-time insolvent Cabby talked to us about spirits. The 
warder searched us for spirits, and Brady at once reverts to 
spirits. It seems to be the bone of contention, and the 
sole object at Whitecross street, for the officials to try to 
keep the prisoners from drinking ardent spirits and for the 
prisoners to try to get spirits to drink. The prisoners appear 
to succeed, thanks to the thirsty weakness of the warders. 



constable's hotel, . 97 

"But," said Brady "we manage to got a pretty fair 
supply of the creature comfort."' 

" How ?'" 

" Oh, many ways. Milk, for example." 

"Milk?" 

" Well, we are allowed milk. Milk has to be brought in 
cans. It is easy enough to drown a bottle of the needful in 
a milk can." 

Brady told us that there were some noble fellows in the 
prison — men of the right sort, and well off, too. " Yes, my 
dear friend, there is an officer to whom I shall introduce 
you. He has plenty of money, but somehow or other he 
gets in here to settle. Well, it is with him I have met with 
surprising luck. I tell you, my friend, what I would not 
mention to another living soul. The captain is going to 
start a newspaper for the purpose of upsetting the Horse 
Guards, and I am to be the editor. If you like to write for 
it, do so. Money is no object, and you shall have your four 
guineas an article, and write as many articles as you like. 
Is not Providence good to me ?" 

Brady was not jesting. Iso matter how visionary a 
scheme, he would believe it. He was a victim of that most 
fatal of all social diseases — unlimited sanguineness. A 
word was enough to persuade him that he was on the eve of 
obtaining a splendid fortune, and he would not have been 
surprised to receive at any moment an autograph letter from 
the Queen, asking him to form a Cabinet, or to become 
Commander-in-Chief. Brady was perpetually answering 
advertisements, and, after a thousand disappointments, he 
was quite confident that he should get the appointment for 
which he applied. Another peculiarity of Brady's was his 
idea of Providence. If he was depressed — he was so now 
and then for a few hours — he said Providence was against 
him. If he was cheerful, that is, if he was indulging in 
castle. building — which he did night and day — he said 
Providence was doing wonders for him. He had a half- 
defined impression that Providence would suspend any laws, 



98 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

and work any number of miracles, for the sake of Daniel 
Brady. "We are not finding any fault with our friend. He 
was benevolent, without the slightest discrimination or 
judgment. All his male acquaintances, no matter what 
their shortcomings, were — particularly if they were penni- 
less — godlike souls, and all his female acquaintances were 
noble and divine women. He lives in a delusive dream 
from which no experience ever awakens him. 

"Whilst Brady went to prepare for the walk to Basinghall- 
street we had time to look round the room, which was 
tolerably full of visitors. Some were laughing, and others 
were sad. Here was a wife talking about the affairs of 
home, and there was a daughter trying to look calm, but 
who would have a cry when she reached home. Will some 
one be good enough to tell us what is the good of this 
imprisonment for debt ? It is true, it is not for long — for 
not more than a few days or at most a few weeks. It is true 
if a man is vigilant, he can file his own petition, get protec- 
tion from arrest, and so avoid Constable's Hotel. It is true 
that a short imprisonment is the precursor of freedom from 
debt. But why this short imprisonment ? Does it benefit 
the creditors ? We grant that it hurts the debtors. The 
few days or few weeks of imprisonment, unfit a man for 
work, and produce a feeling of recklessness. W r hat saith 
Brady ? " My dear friend, if fellows knew how easy it is, 
they would not mind debt, and, instead of working hard to 
pay their creditors, would snap their fingers at them." 
Suppose, instead of imprisonment, a bankrupt, after seven 
years was compelled to give an account of his then property, 
and that, say, one- third of it had to be divided amongst his 
creditors. We take it that such an arrangement would be 
of advantage to the creditors, it would not discourage the 
exertions of the honest debtor, and, as for the dishonest 
debtor, it signifies not whether he is or is not discouraged. 

We went with Brady, escorted by a warder, to Basing- 
hall-street, making a call, en route, at a public-house, for a 
drink — spirits, of course. At Basinghall-street we met 



constable's hotel. 99 

Mr. Eecker. We went into a room in which were seated two 
gentlemen — registrars. One was reading a newspaper, and 
the other was doing business. Brady, without reading, 
signed several papers put before him by Mr. Keeker, and 
then swore to the truth of their contents. Next he went 
up-stairs into an office nominally to surrender his property, 
but as he had no property to surrender, we presume he 
swore that he had none. On our way back to Whitecross- 
street there was another call at the public-house, where the 
warder and Brady liquored up, and the latter procured a 
dram bottle of spirits, which he concealed in his trousers. 
As we passed through the railed passage aboTe referred to 
we asked the warder who were the prisoners confined in the 
large iron cage on our left. TTe were told that they were 
County Court prisoners. The majority of them were working 
men, and were in their working dress. Where were their 
families ? 

This is the County Court system in practice : — A debtor 
is ordered to pay so much a week or a month, at the discretion 
of the judge. If he neglects to do so he is again summoned, 
and the judge may at his discretion commit him for a period 
of not more than forty days, for what is facetiously called 
contempt of court. But the imprisonment does not pay the 
debt. Let us take the. case of a labourer who has a hard 
time of it. He gets into debt with his baker for, say, 
eighteen shillings. He is summoned to the County Court. 
He is ordered to pay, and does not. He is sent to prison, and 
in the meantime his family are deprived of all honest means 
of support. At the end of the ten, or twenty, or thirty, or 
forty days he comes out of prison. After a little while he 
is summoned for the same debt, and may go to prison for 
the same debt again and again. Is this just ? Is this not 
a gross and glaring iniquity ? Why should a man, because 
he owes less than twenty pounds, be imprisoned for any 
period not exceeding forty days, and yet this imprisonment 
not release him from his debt, whilst the man who owes 
large debts may avoid imprisonment altogether, or, if he is 

h2 




100 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

arrested, will get out in less than forty days and all his debts- 
be cancelled ? 

We shall be told, forsooth, about the contempt of court. 

"We shall be told that the judge only commits when the 

debtor can and yet will not pay. How can and will not 

pay ? Has he property ? Then seize it for his debt. Oh 

no he may not have property, but he has wages and he 

ought to pay out of his earnings. Are the working classes 

the only earners of money ? Why not apply the same rule 

to the large debtors ? Why not compel them under penalty 

of repeated imprisonments to set apart some of their earnings- 

for their creditors ? That would not do. The object of 

insolvent legislation is to relieve the debtor of the burden 

that presses upon him and keeps him down. An admirable 

principle. It is politic if a man gives up all he has to allow 

him to start again free from debt. But why not apply the 

admirable principle to the poor debtor ? Why, when a 

working man has given up all he has, are his future earnings 

to be taxed for the payment of his debts under the penalty 

of constantly recurring imprisonment if he does not or 

cannot pay the sum ordered by the County Court judge ? 

No legal sophistry can get over the fact of that iron cage at 

Constable's Hotel, filled with working men who have given 

up all their property, who are imprisoned from time to time 

at the discretion of a judge, but whose imprisonment does 

not relieve them from their debts. A gentleman owes his 

tradesmen — tailors, bootmakers, and it may be jewellers — 

£500. He goes to Constable's Hotel for a week or two, 

and in less than two months he is free from debt. Next 

year he may come into a large property, or he may be 

earning £500 a year, but there is no legal obligation on him 

to pay his old creditors. A bricklayer owes one pound for 

meat or bread. He goes to prison for a fortnight, but he 

does not wipe off his debt. Next month he gets work. He 

begins to recover a little from the difficulties incident to his 

enforced idleness. Again there is a little fire in the grate, 

his children are beginning to be clothed, and they are no- 



constable's hotel. 101 

longer tormented with the pangs of hunger. Down comes 
his old creditor on him, and the judge issues an order for 
two shillings a week. "What wonder that the man becomes 
indifferent and gives up the struggle in despair ? This is 
not a fancy picture. Gro to Whitecross-street prison, 
genteelly called Constable's Hotel. Look at the working 
men in the iron cage on the left. The big debtor who gets 
into prison is ever after free from his creditors, for the law 
will not permit the creditor to touch his future earnings or 
even his future property. For the poor debtor there is no 
.such mercy. He must give up all he has, and yet his 
future earnings are mortgaged to his creditors. If a 
gentleman owes £500, his debts are forgiven him. If a 
working man owes one pound for bread or meat, there is no 
forgiveness. Yerily, in this instance, there is one law for 
the rich debtor and quite another law for the poor debtor, 
and the sooner there is an end to the distinction the better. 
We cannot forget those working men in working dress in 
the iron-cage at Whitecross-street prison. 



102 



COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 



"MAKY ANITE" Al POE EVEE 



The most commonplace ruins in the world are the ruins of 
Rochester Castle. There is not a vestige of romance about 
them. There is no appearance of antiquity or evidence of 
decay. One would suppose that the Castle had been gutted 
by a fire which had consumed, everything but the bare walls, 
or that it had always been an unfinished building. Yet 
from frequent visits to the place we began to like it, and 
now that the solitude is peopled with past personal recol- 
lections, there is some question in our mind whether the 
grim remains of Rochester Castle are not preferable to 
Tintern Abbey. It was in Rochester Castle we first met 
our dear and valued friend, Captain Roberts, of the Mary 
Anne. The gallant Captain, who appeared remarkably 
like a fish out of water, was lolling in the courtyard cracking 
nuts, and throwing the shells at the walls, perhaps to test 
their strength. Very fortunately Captain Roberts missed 
his aim with one shell, which, instead of striking the wall, 
struck our cheek, and the incident led to an acquaintance, 
which fast ripened into friendship. 

Captain Roberts was about as an unnautical a looking 
man as can well be conceived. He was tall, thin, and 
walked without the slightest rolling. His conversation 
was as free from sea phrases as though he had been a land- 
lubber from youth upwards. Captain Roberts was not in 
her Majesty's service, nor was he exactly in the merchant 
service. He was the owner and commander of the Mary 
Anne, a decked fishing-boat, of something less than twenty 
tons register. A daintier little craft than the Mary Anne 
never sailed out of Rochester. Her lines were not parti- 



"MABY ANNE," Al FOE EVER. 103 

cularly striking ; but her speed was the wonder and envy 
of rival fishermen. Many a time has the Mary Anne put to 
shame some of the yachts belonging to the crack clubs. 
Moreover the Mary Anne was an eminently neat and spruce 
craft. No Dutch vessel that ever sailed was freer from un- 
tidiness and uncleanliness. Her crew consisted of Captain 
Roberts and a boy. At least, we suppose the crew was a 
boy— a regular young giant, with the sturdiest of limbs, 
and a complexion of the hue of the setting sun. 

Our friendship with Captain Roberts resulted in the 
Mary Anne becoming for all practical purposes our yacht. 
During the season, as often as we could, we used to go out 
in her, generally hugging the coast, but not unfrequently 
paying a visit to the opposite shore. It was a jolly though 
not an eventful life on board the Mary Anne. Here is 
the log for a day : About five in the morning the captain 
gives a cheerful " Ay, ay, sir !" and we get up, and go on 
deck, and the boy — he had no other name than the boy — 
threw out a sail under the direction of the captain, and we 
plunged into "the briny," and had a glorious bath. Our 
ablutions over, the next business was breakfast, which con- 
sisted of coffee without milk, cold fried fish and the 
inevitable pipe. The morning was devoted to cruising 
about lazily, comfortably, and with an inexpressible kind of 
pleasure. There is a joy in being on the big sea in a little 
craft, which must be felt, but cannot be described. Every 
vessel that we met was duly examined by the aid of the 
glass, and her build criticised. Sometimes we essayed to 
learn the art of practical navigation, but we signally failed. 
Captain Roberts was too discreet a mariner ever to trust 
his vessel to our charge. About eleven o'clock our labours 
commenced. We were the cook of the vessel. The fact 
is Captain Roberts was profoundly ignorant of the culinary 
art. The boy was pretty well up in plain cooking, but his 
hands were objectionable. We are by no means dainty ; 
yet we disliked our food being pulled about by hands that 
were of the colour of red ochre very much soiled indeed. 



104 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

Whether the boy ever washed his hands we know notj but 
we do know that whenever we saw them they were grimy, 
and that under the nails there was a landed estate of no in- 
considerable dimensions. So we became cook, with the 
approbation of Captain Roberts and to the amusement of the 
boy. Without any desire to blow our own trumpet, we 
conscientiously aver that we do not think that even Soyer 
could have done better than we did with the materials at 
our command. Our fried fish rivalled the fried fish one 
meets with in Houndsditch, and our puddings were inimit- 
able. Rather heavj-, perhaps, and slightly doughy, but we 
never spared the plums. At all events, if the proof of the pud- 
ding is in the quantity eaten, our puddings were superlatively 
good. The boy devoured them by the pound at the time, 
and his ostrich-like digestion was by no means impared. 
After dinner the Captain and we did the sociable. We 
smoked, and Roberts cracked nuts. We believe Roberts 
ate more nuts than any other person in the world. He ate 
them, too, in a deliberate sailor-like manner. The walnut 
was slowly drawn from his pocket. Then it was examined 
and rubbed on the knee. Next it was crushed between the 
captain's lingers, the shells were gently tossed into the sea, 
every particle of skin was removed, the nut was slipped into 
the left-hand waistcoat pocket, in which Roberts always 
carried salt, and then, being fully prepared, it was jerked 
into the mouth and masticated with the utmost deliberation 
and with manifest enjoyment. There was not much con- 
versation. Roberts was rather taciturn, and his stories, few 
in number, were not particularly lively. But though we 
did not talk much, the afternoons were sociable. The boy 
was also silent, except when he saw, or fancied he saw, 
something extraordinary in the way of fish. As no one paid 
the slightest regard to his remarks, they did not interrupt 
the dumb harmony of the meeting. Towards evening there 
was another meal of fish and coffee, followed by a glass of 
grog. When darkness covered the face of the deep we 
came to anchor. Our flag was lowered, and we were gently 



"MARY ANNE," Al FOR EVER. 105 

rocked to sleep by the motion of the waves. The cabin 
was very small, so that in lying down we were obliged 
to bring knees and chin into unnaturally close quarters. 
But at eighteen one cares not for such trifling inconve- 
niences. At that age the body is as supple as the heart is 
light. 

"We had our gala days. Sometimes we shipped a lands- 
man and enjoyed his misery. A Cockney at sea is about 
the most wretched animal on the face of the earth, and is 
fair sport for the sea dogs. Occasionally we did a little — 
a very little — smuggling for brandy and tobacco. In the 
season the Mary Anne was in a sailing match, and more 
than once carried off the prize. Roberts was very proud of 
his trophies, but not more so than was his wife. 

A kinder soul than Mrs. Roberts never lived. A buxom, 
winsome, and motherly wife, that it does one good to know 
and to remember. Such a clever woman, too ! How beau- 
tifully she managed Roberts ! He reigned — she ruled ; and 
he, innocent man, thought he both ruled and reigned. A 
neater cottage than the " Laurels " was not to be found in 
the three kingdoms. It was situated at Erith, in Kent, at 
which place Roberts lived, because his fathers had done so 
before him. Erith in those days was a pleasant country 
village. Now it is covered w ith villas. Then everybody knew 
everybody else. Now everybody is too proper to know any- 
body else. " Love your neighbour as yourself," enjoins the 
Bible. " Let your neighbours be as strangers unto you," is 
the edict of modern gentility. On Saturdays Roberts always 
went home, and remained at home until the Monday, and 
we were delighted to accompany him. The captain, after 
tea and gossip, made boats for the youngsters, and Mrs. 
Roberts: did the washing and the mending. A handy woman 
with her needle was Mrs. Roberts. She made most of her 
husband's clothes and all her children's clothes. She rather 
disgusted the son and heir — a sturdy boy, seven years' old 
— by running tucks in his corduroys ; but, as she remarked, 
it was necessary to allow for growing. She made one pair of 



106 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

trousers the same before as behind, so that when the knees 
became shabby they could be turned about. We gave the 
coup de grace to this ingenious device by an Hibernian, 
telling her the lad would not know whether he was going 
forwards or backwards, and would be innocently playing the 
truant by walking home instead of to school. After the 
children had been put to bed, came the supper — a hot, sub- 
stantial supper — and this was followed by pipes and grog. 
The captain and ourselves took whisky, whilst Mrs. Eoberts 
took gin, the stimulant that most ladies like best, though 
they are not all candid enough to admit the preference. "We 
usually drank to " sweethearts and wives," and indulged in 
some banter, of which the captain was the willing subject 
and butt. Before retiring for the night we were assured — 
a needless assurance — that the sheets were well aired, and 
that our bed was ditto, because two of the children had been 
sleeping in it all the week. 

The Sunday was a quiet, happy day. In the morning 
Mrs. Roberts insisted upon all going to church except her- 
self and the youngest children. The exigencies of the 
dinner and the baby kept her at home. It was an old 
church and an old-fashioned service. The vicar was an 
aged man and not remarkable for attention to his parish, 
but rather notorious for his negligence. He was on intimate 
terms with the jolly old lord who lived on the top of a hill 
close by — and both the lord and the parson were two bottle 
men. Often, and often, has the service been delayed until 
the said lord had entered the church. The sermons were 
peculiarly sleepy, but happily short. They had been 
preached over and over again for forty years. The captain 
was attentive enough during the prayers, but the sermon 
was an awful trial of patience. He kept himself awake 
by tying hard knots in his handkerchief and untying 
them with his teeth. In the afternoon the family went out 
for a walk unless the Mary Anne happened to be in the 
Reach, and then there was a sail. This did not please the boy 
who was always rated by Mrs. Roberts for not being clean. 






" MARY ANNE," A 1 FOR EVER. 107' 

The captain was wont to tell her that the boy was the right 
sort, and the invariable reply was " I dare say he is, but I 
tell you he is a regular heathen." 

After a few, a very few years, to our lasting regret, we lost 
our friends. And this is how it happened. Whenever the 
boating season came round we found that Mrs. Eoberts was 
in an interesting condition, or that she had lately been in an 
interesting condition. There was always a new baby or a new 
baby shortly expected. Now those events, which in palaces 
tend to strengthen the attachment to the throne, are rather 
serious when they occur frequently in cottages. They are 
blessings no doubt, but they are expensive blessings. Mrs. 
Eoberts with the eighth pledge of affection lying in her lap, 
told us that the family was so large that something must 
be done. She could no longer save a penny ; and, indeed, 
had been compelled to draw upon the savings to meet the 
expenditure incidental to the last event. "What was to be- 
come of the children, as they grew up ? How were they to 
be put out in the world? Father would not always be 
young, and able to work as he now worked. So Mrs. 
Eoberts thought of going to Australia, where, with what 
they had saved, they could get a farm, and might be able 
to do in the world. What did we think of the plan. 

We did not like it, and the bare thought of losing our 
friends, made us feel discontented and savage. But what 
could be said against it ? Most ungraciously we confessed 
that the plan was good, and forthwith Mrs. Eoberts set 
about putting it into execution. Before the summer was 
over — it was a dull summer — the happy home was sold, the 
Mary Anne was sold, the money was drawn from the 
savings' bank, places were engaged in an emigrant ship, 
and with enough to start them fairly, the Eobertses went to 
Australia. 

The parting day is not to be forgotten. There is not, to 
our thinking, any sadder sight than an emigrant ship. The 
vessel was moored off Gravesend. The Eobertses had gone 
on board the night before the day of sailing, and in the 



108 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

morning we went on board to say farewell. It was a scene 
of confusion that baffles description. The deck was littered 
with packages and ropes. The passengers were in the way 
of the sailors, and the sailors were in the way of the 
passengers. There were parents saying good-bye to their 
children, and friends parting with friends, perhaps for 
years — most likely for ever. "Wherever we looked there 
were sorrowing faces, and above the din of preparation were 
heard the sounds of lamentation. Those who had no friends 
present — they were best off — were listlessly watching the 
sailors at work, or staring at the shore. The Eobertses 
were as much cast down as people can be who are doing 
that which is right. Oh, it is a bitter trial to go away for 
•ever and for ever from the land of one's birth. We had 
thought over some words of consolation and kindly farewell, 
but we forgot them, or they stuck in our throat. We looked 
at the cabin, we talked a little about the weather, and we 
promised to write frequently. " If I does well I will come 
back to the old country, and see you before I go on the long, 
long voyage," said Roberts. " We shall never do that," 
sobbed Mrs. Eoberts, " we shall never do that. I wish I 
had never done this thing." Roberts looked wistfully 
towards the shore. " It ain't too late now," he muttered. 
The children came about him, and the momentary feeling 
of despair passed away. Then we sat down in a group, and 
we counted the leaden minutes. W r e had no wish to part, 
yet we all wished the parting scene over. It was a relief 
to hear that the pilot was on board. It was a relief to hear 
the order for all strangers to go on shore. 

"We heard that order and obeyed it promptly. (i I wish 
you had not come to-day," cried Mrs. Roberts, " and oh, I 
wish I had not done this thing." We kissed the children, 
who wondered what father and mother and " nunky" — that 
was the name they called us — were so grieved about. We 
embraced Mrs. Roberts, not attempting to utter a word of 
farewell. Grasping Roberts's honest hand, and with a God 
bless you, we parted. As the boat by which we left the 



"MABY ANNE," Al FOE EVBE. 109 

ship neared the shore, we ventured to look up. There were 
the Kobertses, signalling farewell ; and we waved our hand- 
kerchief in return. And so we parted, never to meet again 
on this earth, with the captain of the Mary Anne, and with 
his good and noble wife. Perhaps we may be laughed at 
for loving so well a fisherman and his wife. Perhaps we 
may be sneered at for yachting in a fishing-smack. We 
are proud to own our respect and affection for an honest 
man and a true womanly woman ; and the Mary Anne — 
dear old craft ! — will, in our memory, be rated A 1 for ever. 



110 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 



EASTER MONDAY, 



In London the gentility stops at home on Easter Monday. 
It is the holiday of the toiling millions, and they make the 
most of it. Early in the morning the railway stations are 
thronged with excursionists. Some are going to favourite 
retreats in the neighbourhood of the metropolis. Others 
are going to do Brighton and back, with eight hours at the 
sea- side, for three shillings. Richmond, Kew, and Hampton 
Court are extensively patronised. Gravesend will do a 
considerable trade in shrimps. And when all the world has 
gone out of town what a great world remains in town ! The 
streets are thronged with men, women and children seeking 
pleasure. They saunter about staring at the shops, staring 
at the lamp-posts, and staring at vacancy. Every one to 
his taste. The streets of London are, perhaps, agreeable to 
holiday folk, and moreover even a cheap excursion costs 
money. Well, then, is it not prudent for those who are poor 
and frugal-minded to give up the idea of an excursion and 
so better afford a visit to the theatre in the evening ? There 
is another reason why so many remain in town. We often 
read advertisements for a married couple without " incum- 
brances" — yes, that is the word. What a satire on our 
civilization ! What a satire, and what a coarse, bitter, ugly 
fact ! Amend the dictionary as follows : — 

" Children. — The young offspring of rich people." 

u Incumbrances. — The young offspring of poor people." 

But in one sense they are incumbrances on Easter Monday. 

Supposing there is not a young baby and a little toddler, 

and suppose the incumbrances are old enough to go out, an 

excursion is still impossible. When you come to multiply 



EASTEB MONDAY. Ill 

three shillings by six and add to it the extras, also multiplied 
by six, you have a sum total that represents more than a 
week's earnings in the best season. Therefore on Easter 
Monday the streets of London are crowded with families. 
Father and mother, and the little ones, clinging to each 
other as if they were somebodies, and not mere machines 
and incumbrances. Look at that stalwart mechanic — the 
model and perfection of a working man. There is a slight 
stoop about the shoulders, and he saunters along with a sort 
of indolent, heavy languor. But look at him closely. 
What a giant he will be to-morrow when he wields the 
hammer or stands at the vice ! Shrewd, clever men are the 
mechanics of England. They manage their class affairs 
with consummate tact, and in the contest with capital come 
off victorious. But they have not read, or do not believe in 
the Malthusian philosophy. They marry early, and get 
children as fast as they can. Nor are they ashamed of 
their incumbrances. Glance again at our sauntering Vulcan. 
He is carrying the baby ! u Very unmanly," says the 
exquisite. Poor Eitz-jSbodle ! If you could look a little 
below the surface you would be induced to envy rather than 
despise that mechanic. Is it not something — a pretty big 
something — to have a wife who loves you, and children who 
think of you as a father, and not merely as a governor to be 
bled pecuniarily? Incredible as it may seem to you, 
Eitz-Noodle, the mechanic is so blessed, and you — well, you 
are only a chattel or part, and not the most important part, 
of a marriage settlement. There, Fitz-Noodle, go home. 
"What do you out on Easter Monday ? Have you forgotten 
" The Genteel Catechism. ?" Use the working classes for 
your profit by all means. Write books about them, if you 
are minded to bring down the price of waste paper. Send 
missionaries to the labouring classes to preach to them and 
to teach them. But you must not mix with them, neither 
in the park, nor in the street ; not in the theatre, nor in the 
church. Note how careful the Church is to practically inculcate 
" the Genteel Catechism." Genteel sinners sit in comfortable 



112 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

pews, whilst vulgar sinners are huddled together in free 
seats. And now, Fitz-Noodle, is the great festival of 
Christianity. The Church celebrates the crowning work of 
Redemption. Is it right at such a time to forget the Genteel 
Catechism ? You will be startled to hear, Fitz-Noodle, that 
on the Continent, at such seasons, high and low, rich and 
poor, meet together. Ah, happy and proper London ! 
Gentility stops at home when the toiling millions make 
holiday. 

We — forgive the delinquency, oh ! genteel friends — will 
take a trip down the river as far as Greenwich. How 
many passengers the steamers are licensed to carry we 
know not, but they carry enough to add a spice of danger to 
the other excitements of the voyage. Here we are on board, 
the rope is let go, and we are off. We shoot through the 
arches of London-bridge, and enter the Pool. Delightful I 
Talk about the Ehine, or for the matter of that, the Missis- 
sippi ! We grant the Mississippi is bigger, but it was not 
dug out, so do not, dear American cousins, bawl too loudly of 
its bigness. What port can vie with the port of London in 
its show of shipping ? The band — a fiddle and a harp — 
strikes up " Eule Britannia," and our patriotism is so 
stirred within us that we bestow upon the said band a liberal 
donation of copper coins. 

The passengers are jolly. The lasses are dressed in their 
best, and it is amusing to observe how nearly they copy 
the toilets of Belgravia — in style we mean, not in quality. 
We have no wish to be hypercritical, but it seems to us 
that some of the damsels have made too free use of their 
mistress's pearl powder and rouge, that their hair is too much 
bandolined, and that their gloves are about three sizes too 
small. It is rather painful to see reeves of red flesh over- 
lapping the tops of the gloves. The fair ones are for the 
most part accompanied by the young men with whom they 
are keeping company. The cavaliers are also fashionably 
attired. Patent leather boots, at seven and sixpence, war- 
ranted not to come to pieces the first time of wearing them, 



EASTER MONDAY. 113 

light trousers, of last season's cut, waistcoats of conspicuous 
patterns, coats of cloth that in a photograph looks as good 
as the best West of England, and shiny hats. The gentle- 
men for the most part carry their gloves in their pockets, so 
that their resplendent rings are not hidden by thread or kid. 
Ah, but we have omitted an all-important item. The 
gentlemen are smoking cigars or cheroots. No girl who 
has a notion of what things ought to be would keep company 
with a young man who did not smoke on Sundays and holi- 
days. What the cigars and cheroots are made of we know not, 
but we opine that they are a mixture of English cabbage 
and of German tobacco, which tobacco is vastly inferior to 
English cabbage. Happily for our olfactory nerves, the men 
who are not keeping company smoke American tobacco in pipes. 

Before we get out of the Pool baskets are opened, and 
there is a general consumption of food, principally sand- 
wiches — substantial sandwiches, at least an inch and a half 
in thickness. Those who are not provided with home liquors 
drink stout, which is frothy and of excellent quality on the 
Thames steamers. The favourite beverage, however, is gin 
and water hot, with plenty of lemon. " Oh," said a lady 
who was eating voraciously, " 'aint it plummy? I'se so enjoy- 
ing myself ! " We beg to explain that the lady was not guilty 
of self-cannibalism. She was not eating her own flesh, but 
eel-pies, and she was carefully spitting away the bones. 

Greenwich ! Such a pushing to get out of the boat, as if 
life and happiness depended upon being the first to land. 
The eel-pie lady was squeamish, and required a little guid- 
ing along the landing-stage. The river was not rough, but 
eel-pies and hot gin and water sweet are of a somewhat 
bilious tendency. 

Greenwich Pair is a thing of the past. Some one found 
out that fairs were immoral, and so they have been put 
down. But the park has not yet been abolished by the re- 
formers, and to that we proceed. Here are all sorts of games, 
to suit all tastes. Bunning, jumping, Aunt Sally, kiss-in- 
the-ring, dancing to accordions and fiddles, eating and 



114 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

drinking on the grass, and running down the famous Green- 
wich hill. The said hill is not large, but it is steepish, and 
the sport consists in having a tumble every third or fourth 
run. Such tumbling would break the limbs and concuss the 
brain of a genteel body, but is does not hurt the holiday 
folk. It is a merry scene. Shouting, screaming, talking, 
and boisterous laughter. Fitz-Noodle, if it were lawful, it 
would do you good to witness it. 

Leaving the park, we proceed through the streets of 
Greenwich. At every house is a woman touting for cus- 
tomers. Tea, with shrimps, for ninepence a-head. Tea, with 
shrimps, and private rooms for parties, at a shilling a-head. 
That sounds cheap, and it is cheap. Those who avail them- 
selves of the bargain do not fail to clear up the bread and 
butter, and shrimps, and to empty the sugar basin. Run- 
ning in the park, singing choruses, and boisterous laughing, 
are exceedingly provocative of appetite. If you will eschew 
eel-pies and hot gin-and-water, you will find, my afflicted 
friend, that an Easter Monday excursion to Greenwich is a 
more effectual cure for dyspepsia than blue pill. 

We return to town by railway, and have a hard battle to 
get a seat in a carriage. All distinctions of class are, for 
the nonce, forgotten. No matter what your class, get in 
where you can, and as a rule, the third-class passengers get 
into first-class carriages, and the first-class passengers get 
into third-class carriages. 

So far, the Easter Monday picture is pleasant enough. Is 
there not a dark side ? 

We will not finish by going to the theatre. We decline 
to visit the music-halls. We will, on the suggestion of a 
friend, enter a casino, and tell as much about it as may be 
told without offence. 

A large hall with galleries running round it, handsomely 
decorated and gaily lighted. A band that plays dance 
music well. Nearly all the women are of the demi-monde. 
The men are of several classes. There is the genteel roue 
who sits in the gallery and smokes, and would not dance for 



EASTER MONDAY. 115 

any amount of money. There is the old roue, whose evil 
passions have outlived his prime of years. There is the 
young man who dances. He is either a hundred-aud-fifty- 
pound-a-year clerk, or a shopman. His dress is fast, and 
his face dissipated and unwholesome. Examine these danc- 
ing men, and you will see at once that they are not an 
intellectual class. If they have any brains at all they are 
in their legs. No man with a fair intellect is a great 
dancer. Besides the classes here referred to, there are a 
sprinkling of decent men and women, who go to the casino 
out of curiosity, and we are told that on Easter Monday the 
number of decent visitors is larger than usual. 

The dancing is orderly, thanks to the exertions of the 
persons who act as masters of the ceremonies. Orderly, 
but not refined. To write plainly, the dancing is grossly 
immodest ; and it is the immodesty that attracts the audi- 
ence in the galleries. Quadrilles do not seem to be much 
in vogue, but polkas and waltzes are in constant demand. 

It was pitiable to see the decent girls joining in these per- 
formances. You could distinguish them at a glance from 
the demi-monde. The friend who took us into the place 
assured us that the London casinos do more to promote 
London prostitution than any other institution. We can 
readily believe him. No man who has a vestige of manly 
love or respect for a girl would take her to such a place, 
and no girl can visit such a place even once without weak- 
ening that self-respect which is one of virtue's strongest 
bulwarks. 

Look at that girl who is taking some refreshment after a 
dance. Pretty, is she not ? The face is painted, but even 
through the paint we can trace a kind countenance. 
"What she is in moral character is too perceptible ; and we 
learn from our friend what she was but a few, a very few, 
years ago. She was a pretty and virtuous girl. Not 
virtuous only in the sense that she had not fallen into sin, 
but virtuous in the highest sense — that is, that she was 
above the thought of vice. How did she fall ? The story 

i 2 



116 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

may be told in a few words, and it is so common a story 
that it is hardly worth the telling. She had to get her 
living. She went into a house of business. She was 
thrown into the society of men who looked upon her as 
their lawful prey. For a while she stood aloof, but by 
little and by little she relaxed in her demeanour. She be- 
came freer in her conversation. She permitted the son of 
her master to see her home. She went out with him. She, 
not knowing the customs of society, dreamt that the man 
would marry her. She knew not that genteel society will 
banish a gentleman who marries a girl who has to earn her 
daily bread by daily toil, but that genteel society does not 
think any the worse of a gentleman for seducing a girl who 
is so situated. So it came to pass that the girl fell, and 
there was one more added to the fifty or sixty thousand 
fallen women of London. That was all. 

Let us away from this place. It has spoilt our Easter 
Monday excursion. Oh, this night-side of life ! Oh, this 
too, too common story, that makes the whole heart sick ! 
Sick for sheer pity's sake, and sick unto death when we 
think of sister or of daughter ; and think, oh God, that but 
for an accidental superior social status they would be ex-* 
posed to like temptation, and to a like fate. It is not good 
to dwell too much on the night-side of life. We get weary, 
and almost despair. We are almost overwhelmed with the 
falsity, the corruption, and misery that everywhere sur- 
rounds us. Better turn away from scenes of evil and of 
sadness. Better persuade the heart that affection is not a 
myth — that friendship is not a sham. You that have sisters 
or daughters, let your Easter Monday's excursion end with 
daylight; or, at least, do not look upon casino life. Do not 
,so, unless your heart is seared and void of all compassion. 



OUR DOMESTIC SERVANTS. 117 



OUE DOMESTIC SEKVANTS. 



-" Walk in, Ladies ! Walk in and select from the largest 
stock in the metropolis. We have always on hand an 
unfailing supply of the best and cheapest human flesh and 
blood." 

Ah, do not be alarmed ! I am not going to introduce you 
to a negro slave mart. Faugh ! Negro flesh, forsooth ! My 
dear lady, we are in London ; and in London, you know, a 
slave block is not to be found. I refer to the sale not of 
negro, but to the hire of Caucasian, flesh and blood. 

We enter a Servants' bazaar. We will accompany Mrs. 
Bashaw, who has come to do business. In a sort of 
wooden den or office is the man that takes the money. If 
you want a wet nurse the fee is five shillings ; ditto for a 
cook ; and for all other servants, including dry-nurses and 
housemaids, the fee is half-a-crown. Mrs. Bashaw wants a 
general servant, and therefore, for the privilege of selection, 
pays half-a-crown. The bazaar is divided into compart- 
ments. In one place the wet-nurses are railed off. In 
another the cooks are penned up. In another the house- 
maids, dry-nurses, and general servants are huddled together 
waiting to be hired. 

Mrs. Bashaw being seated in a comfortably-furnished 
room, the female superintendent of the department waits 
upon her to ascertain her requirements. Mrs. Bashaw 
explains that she keep's a nurse, that she has a boy who 
cleans the knives and boots and assists in waiting, and that 
she wants a general servant who can cook. She must not 
be younger than twenty-one, or older than thirty. She must 
be tall and respectable-looking. She must have a long and un- 



118 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

impeachable character from her last place. She must be good- 
tempered, honest, sober, industrious, and obliging. Wages, 
eleven pounds a year, with a rise of a pound a year, if the girl 
does her duty. The female superintendent has no doubt that 
she will be able to suit her customer. 

For a few minutes Mrs. Bashaw is left alone, and then 
enters a girl about four feet two. " Oh, you are too little," 
exclaims Mrs. Bashaw, and the girl retires. The next 
piece of goods is tall, but manifestly past forty. " It is no 
use asking you any questions," says Mrs. Bashaw, "you are 
too old." The next applicant is neither short nor old, but 
rather pale. " You are not healthy or strong enough for my 
place," says Mrs. Bashaw. The next comer is a likely- 
looking girl. Mrs. Bashaw asks her a few questions, and 
all is satisfactory until the question as to character is put. 
A good deal of blushing and a thickness of utterance, as if 
the girl had a bullet lodged in her throat. Her last mistress 
cannot deny that she was an honest and a good servant, but 

"Well, and why did you leave ?" " Oh, ma'm," replied 

the girl sobbing, " I was so cruelly deceived, and oh, ma'm, 
I had a ' misfortune.' " Here, quick, bring in some 
disinfecting fluid. The immaculate Mrs. Bashaw in the 
same room with a frail sister ! Sister, indeed ! Away with 
you, you wicked hussy ! But Mrs. Bashaw is a Christian 
lady. So she advised the girl to repent, but of course she 
could not take her into her house. Go forth, you wicked 
one ! God may forgive you, and so does Mrs. Bashaw with 
her tongue ; but so far as she is concerned she will not give 
you a chance of leading a virtuous life, to save your body 
from prostitution and your soul from eternal damnation. 
She is too respectable for that. " Go," said Mrs. Bashaw, 
" sin no more, and send the Superintendent to me." 
The Superintendent was sorry that the girl did not suit her 
customer, but the right article had just come in. The cun- 
ning Superintendent always tries to get rid of her worst 
goods first, but Mrs. Bashaw is just as cunning, and will not 
be so imposed upon. 






OUR DOMESTIC SERVANTS. 119 

Enter the right article. The girl is tall, healthy-looking, 
neatly dressed, and respectful in her manners. She informs 
Mrs. Bashaw, that her name is Susan Vagg, and that she is 
three-and-twenty. 

Susan Vagg, you are laying it on there. You are only 
twenty unless you came into the world three years old, or 
unless, like one of my Hibernian friends, you were born 
when your mother was out, and she did not know of the 
event for three v years afterwards. That little fib will add two 
pounds to your wages ; but still Susan it is a fib, and it is 
quite as naughty for the eldest Miss Vagg to say she is older 
than she is, as it is for the eldest Miss Bashaw to be five 
years travelling from seventeen to nineteen. 

Mrs. Bashaw haying asked Susan if she was honest, and 
if she could get a good character from her last place, 
proceeded to explain the sort of service she wanted her to 
render. She must rise at half-past five without being 
called. The house must be kept beautifully clean, for Mrs. 
Bashaw cannot abide dirty corners. The heavy things are 
put out, but the light articles of apparel will have to be 
washed by Susan. The cooking, though plain, must be 
perfect of its kind. After the dinner things are cleared 
away, the kitchen must be made tidy, and Susan must be 
dressed ready for waiting. When the nurse is out or 
assisting the elder young ladies with their toilet, Susan 
must take care of the children. Susan must go to church on 
Sunday morning with the family — not of course to sit in the 
family pew, but with the boy in the free seats. Susan is to 
have one holiday a month, but she cannot go out until 
twelve, and must be home by nine. ~No followers are 
permitted. Gossiping at the door is strictly prohibited. 
Half a pint of beer per diem is allowed to each servant. 
"Wages £11 per annum. 

Susan courtsies, and accepts the conditions. Call this 
hiring or buying, which you like : it is, at all events, 
obtaining human flesh and blood at a cheap rate. You say 
that Susan is not bound to serve Mrs. Bashaw. Would she 



120 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

do so if she could help it ? "Would you, my fair friend, 
accept such service ? Let us have a glance at Susan in her 
new home, and I am sure you will shudder at the bare idea 
of such a fate. 

One day in the service of Mrs. Bashaw is so like unto 
another that one day's story is the story of her servant's 
life. The alarum goes off at half-past five — Mrs. Bashaw 
kindly provides an alarum for the servant's bedroom — and 
Susan gets up, lights her candle, puts on her clothes, and 
steals down stairs. At her entrance into the kitchen the 
beetles, with the exception of those which are trodden under 
her feet, run to their holes. The fire is lighted as quickly 
as it can be with the small quantity of wood that Mrs. 
Bashaw gives out for that purpose. The coal-cellar door being 
open, the cat comes out, and purring, rubs herself against 
the servant. "Well, Susan, we don't like cats, but we quite 
understand that even feline sympathy is better than no 
sympathy at all. By the time the kitchen fire is lighted the 
boy puts in an appearance, and in the wash-house sets to 
work to clean the knives and forks. Susan next does the 
dining-room, and woe unto her if the carpet is not well 
swept and the furniture well dusted ! At seven o'clock the 
milkwoman comes, and here veracity compels us to tell of 
one of Susan's peccadilloes. She takes a good drink out of 
the pint-and-a-half of milk, and fills up the jug with water. 
Surely the recording angel will blot out the record of this 
offence with a tear of mercy. Mrs. Bashaw is such an ex- 
cellent wife, such a careful housekeeper, that she permits 
no waste of food in her establishment. After evening 
prayers she descends to the basement and locks up the 
pantry, so that the servants may not be tempted by the 
pangs of hunger to eat a breakfast before the regular hour. 
Now rising at half-past five, especially in the winter, 
engenders a very voracious appetite long before seven, and 
Susan is not strong-minded enough to resist its cravings 
until after the family breakfast at eight. Therefore, being 
deprived of bread, she purloins the milk. After the re- 



OUR DOMESTIC SERVANTS. 121 

freshing draught, Susan hearthstones her steps. A nasty 
job at any time, but particularly nasty when the rising sun 
is obscured by fog, or when the morning is cold. Soon after 
seven Susan takes up hot water to the nursery, and lights 
the nursery fire. Then she sets light to the fire in the 
young ladies' dressing-room, for it is not healthy for the dear 
girls to dress in a cold room. Then rings the bell of the 
mistress's room, and to that apartment Susan has likewise 
to convey hot water — for Mrs. Bashaw is delicate, and can- 
not bear the shock of cold water. By eight o'clock break- 
fast must be on the table, the bacon being properly cooked, 
and the abundant supply of toast, nicely browned. Mrs. 
Bashaw herself makes the tea, as such a superlative house- 
keeper will never trust the key of her caddy in the hands of 
a domestic creature. 

At half-past eight the boy rings a hand-bell in the hall, 
which is the signal for morning prayers. The servants 
march into the dining-room, each one carrying a cane- 
bottomed chair, for it would not do to let the domestic crea- 
tures sit on the chairs which are used by the family. The 
servants are ranged at one end of the room, near to the 
door, and quite at the other end of the room is the family 
group. What condescension ! What a beautiful illustration 
of Christian humility ! Surely it would be unreasonable to 
complain that the servants are not greeted with a " Good 
Morning." Enough that they are allowed to sit in the same 
room with their superiors, whilst the Bible is read, whilst 
Mr. Bashaw prays, and whilst Mrs. Bashaw, covering her face 
with a square of the finest linen, may be supposed by those 
who cannot read the human heart, to be joining in the sup- 
plications which proceed from the lips of her husband. 
Fortunate domestic creatures thus to have the Grospel offered 
to them — at the end of a long pair of tongs ! 

The beds being made, and the bed-rooms being put in 
order, Susan has the honour of receiving her mistress in the 
kitchen. Mrs. Bashaw inspects the dust-hole, to see if the 
cinders have been properly sifted, and that nothing has been 



122 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

thrown away that might have been burnt. Then the lady 
looks into the grease-pot. Mrs. Bashaw allows no per- 
quisites, but sells her own grease. After giving instruc- 
tions for the dinner, Mrs. Bashaw performs her daily task 
of fault-finding. Some corner of the house is not so clean 
as it might be, or Mrs. Bashaw suspects that Susan ate 
some of the tart after it left the table, or that Susan has 
been gossiping with some of the tradesmen, or that Susan 
wastes her mistress's time by letter-writing or with fancy 
work, or that Susan has had the impertinence to mildly 
rebuke the insolence of one of the children. If Susan 
remained twenty-years in the service of Mrs. Bashaw, she 
would not hear one word of commendation. She may work 
from morning till night, and from week's end to week's end, 
she may endure with imperturbable good humour the irrita- 
bility of the master, the haughty snubbing of the young 
ladies, and the nagging of her mistress ; she may try with 
all her heart and soul to be kind, respectful, and assiduous, 
yet, in the eyes of such an immaculate housekeeper as Mrs. 
Bashaw, she will always be an unprofitable servant. 

The family dines at three. If there is any cold meat, 
that, with suet pudding, is the fare of the denizens of the 
kitchen. If by accident they are compelled to dine off the 
hot joint, the part they are to cut at, which we may be sure 
is not the best part, is designated by the mistress. When 
the family dinner is over, and the kitchen tidied, Susan 
enjoys the inestimable privilege of going to her bedroom, 
making her bed and dressing herself. At six o'clock there 
is master's dinner, and at seven o'clock the family tea. At 
half-past eight the hot water is taken to the dining-room, 
in order that the master and mistress may imbibe a little 
stimulant. Except answering the bell, and doing her share 
of kitchen needlework, Susan is now at liberty. At liberty 
to sit down in the under-ground kitchen, but not at liberty 
to see a friend and to enjoy a few minutes' social inter- 
course. She can employ her leisure in mending her clothes, 
or in reading tracts provided for her edification by her most 



OUR DOMESTIC SERVANTS. 



123 



Christian mistress. At ten o'clock, whether there be com- 
pany or not, the hand-bell is again rung, and the servants, 
carrying their cane chairs in their hands, go into the dining- 
room for evening prayers. After prayers they say, according 
to instructions, " Good night, sir ! " " Good night, rna'am ! " 
Susan goes to bed, and her light must be out in ten minutes. 
It is wasteful to keep it burning longer, and Mrs. Bashaw 
allows no other waste in her house besides the waste of the 
flesh and blood of her domestic creatures. 

Such is an ordinary day's work in the service of Mrs. 
Bashaw. When there is company, or when there is sickness 
in the house, or when the washing is about, the work is 
much harder. All this for eleven pounds a year ! Work, 
work, from morning till night, and no rest ; the best years 
of life passed in drudgery, and with no more personal 
freedom than is accorded to a felon. I grant that the flesh 
of oxen and sheep is dear ; but, my fair friend, you cannot 
deny that human flesh and blood, white, Caucasian flesh and 
blood, is dirt cheap in this great city of London. 

What becomes of Susan Vagg ? If she is very, 
exceptionally fortunate, she gets married. Her opportunities 
for marrying are few. She is only permitted to see the 
tradesmen, and they are not the marrying sort. The butcher 
is a fast lad — a Don Juan in blue. The Grocer's man is a cut 
above the servant, and the cat's-meat man is a cut below. 
The baker's man is the right sort, but what is one amongst 
so many ? The policeman is only a cupboard lover. As for 
the postman, I think no one ever knew that functionary to 
be guilty of flirtation. It is an odd coincidence ; but I am 
persuaded that a smart-looking man never yet was employed 
by the post-office. Susan gets followers, it is true; but she 
can see so little of them that the young man she " walks 
with " seldom walks to church with her. 

Perhaps Susan gets sick and then she is sent to the 
hospital. Mrs. Bashaw will not allow a sick domestic 
creature to remain in her well-conducted house. Perhaps 
Susan gives notice to quit, and gets into easier service, and 



124 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

■she certainly cannot get into any harder service. What 
becomes of the majority of such domestic creatures as Susan 
Vagg must be told with bated breath, and in a manner not 
to offend ears polite. 

There are in London 50,000 women who exist by prosti- 
tution. To their career must be charged a large part of the 
vice, the misery, and the crime that afflict society. Of these 
50,000 women not less than half have been at one time or other 
domestic servants. Are you grieving to-day, Mrs. Bashaw, 
that your son has sacrificed every prospect in life for the 
sake of a horrid creature — a certain wicked woman named 
Hose Cavendish ? Madam, that Eose Cavendish was a 
domestic creature once, such as Susan Vagg. Be careful 
how you curse her. Let me tell you, madam, that if you 
had been tempted as she was tempted, you, too, would have 
fallen. What can be expected when a young woman is cut 
off from all human sympathy and kindness, and then hears 
the simulated professions of human affection ? It is as 
certain that she will fall as it is that she will die if she 
swallows poison. We do not in the least excuse prostitu- 
tion, but it is not to be denied that it is to a great extent 
brought about by the way in which our domestic servants 
are treated. 

One word to you, and such as you, Mrs. Bashaw. We are 
not deceived, nor are you deceived by your family praying 
and hysterical maunderings about faith in Christianity. 
We take it that no one can believe in the Grospel of mercy 
and love, and yet treat a human creature as you treat your 
servants. In your heart, if you have a heart, you look upon 
religion as a mere sham, and you only bow at the name of 
Him who came to earth in great humility because it 
is fashionable to do so. But, Mrs. Bashaw, if there is 
anything in it — if there be such things as judgment and 
retribution ! We once heard an old woman counsel her 
daughter to wash her feet and put on clean linen before she 
went on a journey. If an accident happened it would be 
awkward and disgaceful when the clean outside garments 



OUR DOMESTIC SERVANTS. 125 

were lifted to find dirtiness beneath. Mrs. Bashaw, would 
it not be well to try to cleanse your heart a little before 
you go on a certain long journey, for fear of accidents, for 
fear there are such things as judgment and retribution for 
the deeds done on earth? As a beginning, try to treat 
your domestic servants at least as well as your husband 
treats his horse, and as you treat your lap dog. 

Mrs. Bashaw is the type of a class ; yet, thank God, not 
the type of the vast majority of English matrons ; but those 
who are much better than Mrs. Bashaw often treat their 
servants nearly as badly. What the human heart yearns for 
is sympathy, and this they will not give to their domestics. 
We do not plead for that familiarity that breeds contempt, 
but for that kindly familiarity that breeds good-will and 
happiness. What harm would result from shaking hands 
with the servants after the nightly prayers ? What harm 
would result from the children, when they come home from 
visiting or from school, shaking hands with the servants ? 
Why not talk to the domestic servants about the affairs of 
the heart ? They need guidance, and who is so fit to guide 
them as the matron of the house ? Change our present 
system, and we shall no more be bored with constant 
complaints about bad servants. Change our system, and 
thousands of women, now unhappy and an easy prey 
to temptation, will be happy and virtuous. A little 
kindness will gladden our homes and mitigate the immorality 
that now disgraces our city. This is a reform that is not 
only demanded by duty, but also by interest. In a hundred 
different ways the evil that we do unto the least of our 
brethren and sisters is visited upon us. Let the poor rot in 
fever dens, and the winds of Heaven will carry the 
pestilence to our rich homes. If we by neglect or unkincl- 
ness expose our domestic servants to sore temptations, we 
suffer as well as they do. We always reap as we sow, 
though we do not always perceive the connection between 
the sowing and the reaping. 

We almost wish we had not written on this subject. We 



126 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

wish some one who better knows how to plead the cause of 
humanity had undertaken it. Oh, that our feeble voice could 
be heard by the matrons of England ! Oh, thatjour country- 
women would consider ! Then, indeed, there would be a 
change of system, the great multitude of domestic servants 
would be happy, and our sons might walk in the streets 
without at every corner being solicited by fallen women. 
Remember, ye wives and mothers, that in London alone there 
are 50,000 fallen women, and of that number at least one- 
half were at one time in their lives domestic servants. We 
will no more bemoan the feebleness of our utterances and 
the coldness of our pleading. If that fact will not move 
you, then neither would you be persuaded though we spake 
with the tongue of an angel. 



OUR SUBURBAN HOTEL, 



OUR SUBURBAN HOTEL. 



No more pen and ink for to-day. We ought " to make 
copy," but we cannot. Confound it, that can't be right. 
What we cannot do we ought not to do. In fact as Professor 
O'Keefe taught us in our youth, it would be a positive wrong 
to do that which we cannot do, and fortunately it is im- 
possible. So, you little fiend, go back to your sender, and 
tell him that the copy promised to-day will be ready to- 
morrow. It is no use raying, thou cruel and voracious 
printer. You say we ought to keep our promise. We do 
not agree with you. We contend that we ought not, because 
we cannot. We are neither sick nor tired, but we cannot 
work. We have darkened the room, but the sunbeams 
enter through tiny crevices and invite us to go forth. We 
smoke a pipe, but for all that heart and brain are for the 
nonce miles away from our work. We drink tea, which 
merely increases the irritation. We cannot write. Oh, 
what a comfort that we resolve not to do so ! In an instant 
the feeling of weariness is gone, and instead of being in a 
state of savageness we are now all benevolence. That organ 
which we have been so remorselessly condemning is, after 
all, not without its uses. It amuses children, and really the 
tunes are very well set. We pull up the blind, open the 
window, and throw a penny to the grinder. We shall be 
twice mulcted for that charity in days to come. 

We soon get up a party for an excursion. Our friends 
happen to know that our little retreat in the country is one 
of the jolliest places that can be found, and that guests are 

K 



128 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

there entertained with the best of viands and wines. So 
when we dropped in upon one or two good fellows and in- 
vited them to dine with us at — let us call it " The Mitre," 
the assent was ready and hearty. 

We grant that the hotels of France and America are 
gigantic and splendid. We do not deny that the modern 
hotels of London are excellent and superb. We appreciate 
the luxury and cvAsine of the Grosvenor. We are duly im- 
pressed with the grandeur of the Langliam, the Charing 
Cross, the Palace, and establishments of that class. Yet 
these are more or less imitations, or perhaps we should say 
that they are cosmopolitan. But we have in England some 
establishments that are essentially English. We do not 
now refer to country hotels, but to those minor hotels that 
are to be found in the suburbs. When American gentlemen 
first come to this country they deride our native oysters, 
and dilate upon the superiority and lusciousness of the 
American bivalves. After a little while our cousins change 
their opinions, and become fond of our sweet, delicate little 
natives, and confess that, although the American people 
beat all creation, including the solar system and the entire 
universe, yet that in the matter of oysters the old country — 
which they love and abuse — is a little ahead. In like 
manner we are convinced that, although an American would 
at first treat with supreme contempt our metropolitan 
suburban hotels, yet upon a closer acquaintance he would 
be persuaded that, like our oysters, they are unequalled. 
The fact is, they combine the comforts of the English 
home with the comforts of an hotel. 

The " Mitre " is an old-fashioned house, built when 
George the First was King of England, and of that empire 
upon which the sun never sets, " because," said a cute Yankee 
" Providence knows what British wickedness is, and will 
not trust it in the dark." The " Mitre " suggests fossilation. 
It seems as if it had left off growing old about thirty years 
ago, and had remained unaffected by the flight of time. The 
furniture is not modern, but in most excellent condition. 



OUH SUBTJItBAN HOTEL. 129 

The rooms are not gaudy or glaring, or redolent of the pre- 
vailing cheap free trade decorations, yet all things look 
fresh and pleasant. The whole place, we repeat, suggests 
that it had left off growing old about thirty years ago. It 
looks as if in the year 1835 the house had been put to rights 
and had remained in perfect order ever since. The walls 
of the sitting-rooms are furnished with some quaint old 
prints. In our room is an engraving of an actor who was 
in the zenith of his fame when our grandmothers were 
singing love ditties to the accompaniment of the harpsicord. 
On either side of the defunct actor are animal engravings of 
an ante-Landseer period. We learn from the printed in- 
scriptions that the one represents bulls fighting, and the 
other horses fighting. The information is useful, for without 
it we might have been slightly in doubt as to the species of 
the animals, and we should not have known whether they 
were fighting or playing. We daresay our grandsires were 
impressed with the beauty of these engravings, and we con- 
fess to liking them. We hope our room will never be 
deprived of these quaint mural embellishments. 

Our tfoom is not the best in the house, although it suits 
us best. It is quiet and cozy. It has no look-out, but that 
we do not care for. The waiter often solicits us to use a 
front room, but his solicitations are in vain. The waiter has 
a weakness for the said front room. We call it the Cenci 
room. Everybody, from young ladies with a taste for 
painting, to artists who paint at so much per foot, seem to 
esteem it a prescriptive right to grossly caricature the 
Cenci. Look at the " Mitre " copy. The golden hue of the 
hair is translated into the colour of egg. The face, much 
in the wooden Dutch doll style, wears the expression of the 
face of a young lady who has been eating too freely of 
toffee, and is suffering from a species of bastard sea-sick- 
ness. But the throat is the most provoking distortion. 
The Cenci throat is an exquisite creation ; but the " Mitre " 
copy, like most other copies, merely gives us a throat that 
indicates mumps, swollen tonsils, stiff neck, and embryo 

k 2 



130 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

carbuncles. However, the waiter tells us the picture is 
greatly admired by the Germans, who on Sundays during 
the summer frequent the " Mitre." The Teutonic Sunday 
swell is evidently not an authority in matters of art, though 
he knows all about bitter beer and showy dressing. 

We enter the " Mitre." Genial smile from the landlord, 
ditto from the landlady, ditto from the daughters of the 
" Mitre." We ascend the stairs. Chambermaid drops a 
curtsey, and tries to look as if she did not know that our 
visit was, at least, half-a-crown in her pocket. Waiter 
bows gracefully, and, after inquiry as to our sanitary con- 
dition, marshals us into our room. As we have one or two 
friends with us, would we prefer the front room ? No, we 
would not ; but we retired for a brief while with, the waiter 
to the said front room. 

The waiter looks solemn. We are about to order dinner. 
We have the too common human ' weakness of supposing 
that we can arrange a dinner rather better than anybody 
else ; and the waiter dumbly flatters our vanity by looking 
as if he was about to hear a momentous revelation. We 
take the bill of fare in one hand, and with the other we 
diplomatically twirl our moustache. Are there any oysters 
to be had ? Certainly, sir. Then let the first course con- 
sist of a plate of three oysters for each guest, the bivalves 
lying in their upper shells. With the oysters to be served 
lemon, cayenne pepper, and thin slices of brown bread, 
slightly buttered. It is a vulgar error to put the butter on too 
thickly. Any wine with the oysters ? Yes, just one glass 
of Vin de gras, which, of course, must be served in. large 
green glasses. The soup must be thin, but withal slightly, 
very slightly piquante, and as the soup is light we will take 
brown sherry with it. How many sorts of fish will we 
take ? Two, at most. Let there be salmon cutlets for those 
who choose to play havoc with the appetite at an early stage 
of the dinner, and let there be fillet of sole fried. The chef 
at the " Mitre " excels in fried fillet of sole. Up they come, 
brown all over, so dry as not to soil the snowy napkin on 



OUR SUBURBAN HOTEL,. 181 

which they are placed, and crisp without being hard. With 
the salmon let there be cucumber, not cut too thin, so as to be 
knify, and dressed with oil, white vinegar, and white pepper. 
We do not allow any potatoes with the fish, out of consi- 
deration for the digestive organs of our guests. As to 
entrees, we leave them to the chef, with the special injunc^ 
tion that they are not to include any admixture of ham, and 
that there must not be any flavouring of angelica root 
Now for the piece de resistance. The waiter respectfully 
intimates that there is a Dartmoor leg of mutton — " Such a 
little beauty, sir" — that has been hanging in the larder for 
a week. Capital ! Let that be well roasted by a quick fire, 
and for gravy we will not resort to the stock-tub, but be 
content with that which flows from the joint when it is cut— * 
cut longways, and not in the barbarous family fashion. 
With the mutton a few potatoes fried, not boiled. With the 
roast let us have still hock, cold as ice can make it. Then 
let us have a vegetable course of asparagus and artichokes, 
We abhor the system of spoiling the flavour of delicate 
vegetables by eating them with meat. A plover's egg after 
the vegetables would be agreeable. Wild duck, or anything 
that is birdy and gamey, will complete the courses. " Any 
sweets ?" No, we do not wish our friends to remember our 
hospitality by a headache. Any maccaroni cheese ? Cer- 
tainly not : we do not wish to spoil our good dinner by such 
a ponderous addition. To concede a little to the prejudices 
of our friends, we will permit the introduction of cheese — 
but not Stilton. Let it be Gruyere or Parmesan. Dessert 
we eschew. With the port, sherry and claret, let there be 
an abundant supply of unsweetened biscuits. The con- 
ference is over, and at the appointed hour the dinner is 
served without any mistake, and we and the clief of the 
" Mitre" win golden opinions from our guests. 

Some irate housewife remarks that it is of course easy to 
get a good dinner if one is reckless of expense. We beg to 
state that, a first-rate dinner at our suburban hotel costs us 
far less than a second-rate dinner at home. Besides, unlike 



132 COSMOPOLITAN SKETCHES. 

John Gilpin's wife, we are not particularly frugal-minded 
when intent on pleasure. 

As soon as we are through our wine our excellent land- 
lord enters. He hopes the wine has been to our liking ? 
The response is a chorus of commendation. He favours us 
with a concise history of his stock of wines, and very 
solemnly protests against cheap stuff — remarkable sherry at 
one and sevenpence, and celebrated old. port at one and 
ninepence per bottle. On one occasion be met a friend in 
town who invited him to take a glass of wine. In they 
walked to a kind of stores, and glasses of sherry were 
placed before them. Our host drank his off and was nearly 
poisoned. " Why gentlemen, it was sour ditchwater. No 
wonder my friend threw down a shilling to pay for the two 
glasses and got sixpence change. I was never so badly 
treated in my life." After this story he politely invited us 
to visit his cellar — mine host is not free from "vaulting 
ambition " — to crack a bottle of his '34. The cordial 
invitation is cordially accepted, and without more ado, we 
descend. Facilis descensus Averni, but it is not particularly 
easy to descend to the " Mitre Cellars," and if you are not 
careful, head or hat will be bruised. Now the " Mitre " 
cellars would be a source of pride to any gentleman in the 
land. They are not large, but compact, and of a pleasant 
equable temperature. The wines are labelled as to sorts and 
dates, and some of them have been reposing for forty years. 
Having seen and tasted the wine curiosities we glance at 
the spiders, which are the most gigantic we have ever seen. 
They appear to be in good relations with their master, and 
come out of their nest webs at his bidding. Then from the 
'34 bin a bottle is carefully lifted, carefully placed on a 
wooden cradle, the cork carefully drawn and handed round 
for inspection ; the wine is decanted, without a spot of bees- 
wing or crust dimming its ruby brightness, and finally we 
drink it. Oh, what nectar ! Oh, what nectar to cure the 
cholic, and all the ills that the stomach is heir to ! Oh, 
what nectar to make glad the heart of man ! It needed 



OUR SUBURBAN HOTEL. 133 

heroic resolution to tear ourselves away and to refuse a 
second bottle. 

A cup of tea for the merry and wise, grog for those who 
like it, and cigars for all. Time is up, and so, shaking 
hands with our host, and with a gracious bow from our 
waiter, we depart. We have not seen much of the country, 
yet, as we are borne to town in a comfortable carriage, 
converted for the occasion into a smoking saloon, we 
agree that we have had a jolly day, and that for some 
inscrutable reason a dinner in town is never so enjoyable as 
a dinner at a suburban hotel. We hope the " Mitre " and 
places of its kind will not fall victims to the joint-stock 
mania. In town an hotel manager is desirable, but our little 
place in the suburbs would not be our little place if it were 
not under the charge of our excellent friend, the considerate 
and humorous host. 



1 ° g> C gj END >§3--aH- 



a 



_J 



